


Novocaine

by This_kitty_has_claws



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, F/M, Marvel - Freeform, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural - Freeform, Team Free Will, The Avengers - Freeform, Violence, heavy heavy angst, smutttttttttt, triggering content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 29,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11800926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_kitty_has_claws/pseuds/This_kitty_has_claws
Summary: you have never been seen as beautiful, never been noticed, always picked last, in love and daily life, you pretend you’re fine with it, that you can live with it until you start catching feelings for a certain super soldier, which he doesn't return.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A new story! 
> 
> Happy reading.

6 months ago

“Hey, B? Can we talk?” you ask, fidgeting nervously with the frayed sleeve of your battered sweatshirt. It was your favorite, a neon pink monstrosity with a wookie riding a motorcycle on it your sister had given to you before she’d left for New Zealand many years ago. What made her buy it, you had no idea. You weren't particularly fond of pink, but anything with a wookie on it was fine in your book. It needed to be thrown away, but you couldn't bare to part with it. 

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky replies, placing the book he was reading on the coffee table with a small thud and turning to face you, his gaze curious and slightly afraid, his brow furrowed with worry. 

“We’ve been friends for years, Buck...” you trail off uncertainly, self doubt crawling up your spine. Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, you pull at the bottom of your hoodie trying to make yourself smaller. Your eyes dart from his to the floor, from the floor to the ceiling, finally settling on staring out the window. Shoving the self doubt down, you muster all the confidence you can willing yourself to speak the words which reside in your heart. What's the worst that could happen? Breathing deeply, you wrap your arms around your waist trying to hold yourself together.

“Doll?” Bucky questions worriedly. Rising from the couch, he moves toward you. 

You hold up a single hand. 

He stops immediately, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Sighing heavily, you let your hand fall. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, not at all. You’d practiced and everything damn it! 

“Have you ever thought about more, y’know, for us?” you whisper, finally meeting his eyes which are curiously blank. The look makes your heart sink. God, you were such a fool. What were you thinking? 

“Do ya mean like a… a relationship?” he asks, his voice flat. 

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, in too deep to pull out now. You had to see this through. Nodding once, you ignore the sharp intake of breath from Bucky. 

“Ya feel that way about me, doll?” he asks gently, moving cautiously forward. Precise movements, like he’s approaching a scared animal. 

You do your best not to flinch when he lays a hand on your shoulder, ducking his head to try and catch your gaze. Again you nod, eyes trained firmly on the floor. 

He sighs and retracts his hand, dragging it nervously through his hair. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I don’t...” he swallows nervously when your face drains of color, your ruby red lips becoming a sharp contrast against your pale skin. “I don’ feel that way about ya,” he whispers, his heart breaking as your tears start to fall. “Hey... hey look at me,” he says, but you refuse, staring at a point just past his shoulder. “You’re my best friend, Shadow, I just don’ wanna ruin that, ya know?” he says uncertainly. 

You feel hot and cold, the embarrassment and rejection a living thing you worming its way beneath your skin. Shoving it down, all of it, every single emotion currently beating against your scarred heart, you raise your eyes to meet his and smile. 

His brow furrows once more, and he opens his mouth to say something else, but you cut him off before he can. 

“It’s fine, Bucky. It was stupid. I was stupid. See ya later,” you say calmly, turning on your heel and marching from the room. 

“(Y/N)! Wait!” he calls after you. 

Ignoring him, you instruct F.R.I.D.A.Y not to let anyone in your room for good measure, needing time to tape back together the pieces of your shattered heart. 

Present

You wish you could say you were handling things maturely, that you’d taken the rejection in stride, that you’d carried on with your friendship as if you hadn't spilled your guts all over him then bolted out the room like a broken hearted teenager.You really wish you could, it wasn't the first time you had been cast unceremoniously aside, but you weren't going to think about him. Not again. 

Instead, you had systematically distanced yourself from Bucky, stopped the Saturday movie nights, stopped going out to dinner, stopped joking around, until there was nothing left but distance. A seven-year friendship destroyed by your inability to accept and move on. 

Bucky had tried, he really had, pursuing you with a single mindedness which scared you. He refused to give up. He needed you. Next, to Steve you were the only one he connected with, but even he had his limits and five months in all contact stopped. 

Crippling loneliness had set in, so lost were you in your self imposed isolation you barely noticed the drop in temperature, or the faint rustling of wings, or the distinct sound of weapons being drawn. 

“Shadow,” the gruff voice of your favorite angel washes over you, startling you back into reality. 

Eyes snapping up, they widen comically as you take in the state of the living area. 

Steve had his shield raised, ready to strike, Bucky was twirling a knife menacingly in his hand, Sam had his fists raised ready to unleash hell if Cas dared moved a muscle.

Cas’s smooth forehead pinched downward. Waving a hand, Bucky, Sam, and Steve fly backward into the couches. “I will not harm you,” he says evenly to the confused men as he turns to you, your face slack with surprise. “You were praying,” he says quietly. 

A vivid red burn through your cheeks, your eyes instinctively dropping to the floor, trying to hide the burning embarrassment. 

“You are hurting,” he says worriedly as he yanks you upward, placing a cool hand on your forehead attempting to heal you. 

You shrug him off, clicking your tongue with annoyance. “Stop it! I'm fine, Cas. Where are they?” you ask peering behind the couch, expecting a Winchester to jump out any second. 

He frowns anxiously, attempting to drag you back toward him. 

Shrugging off every attempt, getting pissier by the second, you finally bark, “Enough, Castiel! Where. Are. They?” 

He sighs and cocks his head to the side, finally relenting. “They are preparing to leave the Bunker. Dean wishes for you to come home,” he says quietly. 

You groan loudly, earning raised eyebrows from Bucky who until this point had been staring at Cas like he was mildly concussed. “I’m not going back, Cas. You know I can't. Not after...” Swallow thickly, you turn your back on the Angel. 

He grunts, knowing the story. He’d been dead, albeit momentarily, but Sam had filled him in on the blanks. It wasn't a pleasant tale. He could smell the anxiousness wafting off you. 

“Lisa and Dean-” Cas begins only for you to hiss at him, eyes darting between him and Bucky. 

“This is not the place for this discussion. Go back to Moose and Squirrel and inform them I do not need, nor do i want, their help. They need to stay the fuck away from me! In fact, I think all the men in my life need to back the fuck up. I do not need you!” you spit venomously, eyes trained firmly on Bucky who flinches at the acid in your tone. You look back to where Cas was standing not a second before, seeing nothing but air. Sighing heavily, stamping your foot petulantly, you drag your hand across your face. 

Steve snorts, gaining your attention. “Best start explaining, (Y/N) .”


	2. Chapter 2

“Who's Dean?” Bucky asks gruffly. He hadn’t spoken to you in months, doesn't look at you, eyes trained firmly on the floor. His muscles are tense, a curious look on his face as he worries at his lower lip. 

Your heart sinks as you realize how badly you had destroyed your friendship, how it could never be the same between the two of you. If only you had kept your mouth shut, but you had taken a chance, the one you had not taken with Dean. 

Dean had been too good, too pure for you, just as Bucky was. 

You destroyed everything you touched, ruined the beauty in the world. You were nothing, merely a shield to be used by those around you, your mutation affording you near invincibility. 

“(Y/N)!” Steve snaps, drawing your attention to him. 

Groaning out loud at the look on his face, you know there was no getting out of this one. 

He wouldn't let you get away without an explanation, not this time. “Who was that? And who’s Dean?” he asks, His Captain America persona coming out in full swing. 

You sigh heavily, not knowing where to begin or how to explain, end up floundering for a second before settling on the truth. “Cas is an angel. Dean is... was a friend,” you reply, not daring to meet his eyes, knowing he wouldn't believe the vague explanation. 

Steve snorts in disbelief. “You don't react that way to a friend, Shadow. Tell me the truth,” he demands, Bucky nodding vigorously at his side. 

Sam offers you a look of sympathy coated in curiosity. “She said Angel? Ain’t anybody gonna comment on that? No?” he says, trying to divert the attention away from what was obviously a touchy subject. 

“We fought Aliens,” Steve deadpans. 

“I’m a brainwashed ex-assassin,” Bucky adds. 

“(Y/N) absorbs the power of others,” Steve continues. 

Sam deflates, shrugging his shoulders in a defeated “I tried” motion. 

Clenching your jaw and squeezing your eyes shut, you breathe heavily in through your nose, willing away the memories Cas’s unannounced visit had stirred up, the heavy realization you would have to do better than the bare minimum settling uneasily in your stomach. “Cas is an angel and my friend. We hunted together with two brothers. They were my family,” you answer, keeping your voice neutral, masking the pain the memories have conjured. 

“And?” Steve prompts. 

Annoyance flares at his persistence. “And nothing, Cap. I don't see how this is any of your business!” you snap. 

His eyes go wide briefly, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of your ire. It softens his demeanor marginally, seeing how upset this is making you, but when Steve makes to speak Bucky cuts him off. 

“He’s an ex?” he asks bitterly, his eyes finally meeting yours. The blue sucks you in, holding you captive. 

The familiar butterflies that stir when he looks at you flip in your stomach. Your hand's bunch in your hoodie as you break his gaze. Confused and angry you rise from your seat. “Again, I don't see how this is any of your business, Barnes,” you spit angrily, stomping in the direction of the kitchen with the intention of making yourself a cup of tea and retiring to your bedroom for the evening, ignoring the heavy footfalls of a certain soldier behind you. 

“What do you want?” you finally ask, turning to face him, hands on your hips, face set in a deep scowl. 

Bucky’s face falls, he shakes his head sadly “What happened to us?” he asks quietly, the heartbreak in his voice so tangible, so heart-wrenching, you have to suppress a whimper. “I’m sorry,” he says as he raises his oceanic blue eyes to meet yours. “I’m sorry I hurt ya.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, revulsion at yourself rising steadily in your throat. “Bucky,” you sigh, taking a step toward him cautiously. Abandoning all caution you rise on your tiptoes and wrap your arms around him. “It’s not your fault. You can't help how you feel. It's my fault and mine alone,” you reply earnestly as Bucky clutches you firmly to his chest. 

His grip is almost crushing, like letting you go would be physically painful. “Can we go back to what we were? I miss you.” His fingers dig into the flesh of your back with bruising force. 

You linger in the embrace, knowing this would be the last time you would hold him this way, the last time he would voluntarily embrace you, or look at you. Choking back the sob threatening to spill out, squeezing him tighter, burying your face in his chest and taking a deep breath the ever present smell of snow fills your nose. Clean and fresh, you savor it, ignoring the wetness of your cheeks. “No,” you say quietly. 

Bucky stiffens, a mixture of a whimper and a snort leaving his throat “Why?” he asks emotionlessly. 

You step away from him, putting much-needed distance between you. “Because I love you,” you state. 

He sucks in a harsh breath, his mouth falling slack at your words. “I… you what?” he asks dumbly. 

Shaking your head sadly, you smile tearfully at him. “I love you and will not drag you down with me. I'm no good for you, friend or something more. Stay away from me, Bucky. You deserve better.” Turning away from him, you march toward the gym hoping to find Wanda or Vision, anyone, to spar with to help you forget, to numb you against him, to erase the look on his face from your memory because you knew how much damage you had just caused. 

You knew the implications of your words, you knew how badly Bucky would react to you pulling further away from him. At this point, you could only hope Steve would forgive you for doing more damage to his friend. But, better to cut it off now, at the knees, before you broke Bucky permanently.


	3. Chapter 3

Striding into the gym, the tears pooling in your eyes threatening to spill and obscure your vision, your ragged breath coming out in short harsh pants causing you to clench your fists at your sides. You were desperately ignoring the little voice in your head screaming at you, berating you, hurling profanities, begging you to go back to Bucky and throw yourself at his mercy. 

Holding on by a thread, you search frantically for Wanda or Vision. Finding no one to distract you from the horror happening inside your head you finally let out a sob. Crumpling into a heap on the gym floor, you cry out your pain. The anguish of the last few years pour out of you as you curl yourself into the fetal position, ignoring the shattering of glass when the usual iron clad control you have on your powers slips. The walls begin to vibrate, chunks of floor hovering in the air as you begin to wail. Rising to your knees you stretch your arms to either side of you and push. The walls implode outward, bits of debri whipping past your face as you destroy everything around you; gym mats disintegrate, mirrors shatter, equipment bends and groans as it's morphed into twisted hunks of metal.

Slowly you come back to yourself, the crushing emotion you felt moments ago lifting with the destruction you caused. You drop your hands to your sides, panting heavily as you regain control of yourself. Squeezing your eyes shut you let yourself sag, giving yourself a moment before you raise your arms once again, taking a deep breath before you pull, quirking your fingers toward yourself. Time reverses like a video tape being rewound. You permit yourself to smile as the usual euphoria fills your soul, soothing the wounds on your scarred heart. 

Opening your eyes, you scrutinize your handy work. Not a thing out of place. The gym was pristine. Sitting back on your haunches you wipe your eyes, suck in a breath and stand, smoothing the creases from your clothes. You stride out of the gym, head held high, ignoring the twinge in your heart as Bucky’s face swims in your mind once more. 

 

***********

You groan as you turn toward the clock on your nightstand. It blinks accusingly, informing you that it was, in fact, 2 am, and whomever was at your door needed a serious talking to, or beating, whichever came first. Tiredly throwing back the covers of your bed, you stand unsteadily, lugging yourself to the door and opening it as quietly as you could only to come face to face with Bucky. 

His eyes were red rimmed, tear streaks down his face. His usual immaculately kept hair in complete disarray. 

Your heart flutters painfully, fingers itching to smooth the tresses from his face. “Bucky?” you ask worriedly. When he merely grunts in response panic grips your heart as you yank him into your bedroom. You usher him gently to the bed as he stares vacantly at you. You hesitated briefly before you drape yourself over him, crooning softly as you run your fingers through his hair, uttering words of reassurance. 

His body relaxes slowly beneath you, his breathing evening out. He wraps his arms around you and buries his head in your hair as he begins to cry, his body shaking violently. 

You know better then to ask, it wouldn't make sense anyway judging from the garbled words leaving his mouth. 

He rolls you onto your side, arms tightening. “Don’t leave,” he says between sobs. “Please, please don't leave!” he cries and in that moment you know, you know how badly you had hurt him, how deeply you had scarred him if his current state was anything to go by. 

You had shattered what little security he felt he had. Swallowing down the revulsion at yourself,you whisper softly, placing a kiss to the top of his head, “I’m right here, B. I’m not leaving.” You tip his chin upward, forcing him to look at you. 

His eyes seem bluer, hope shining fiercely in them. “Promise me,” he whispers, his grip tightening on your hips, he draws you closer to his chest, whispering “Promise me,” over and over in a sick mantra that gives you goosebumps. 

You swallow thickly before nodding. “I promise,” you finally reply, and he sags with relief or exhaustion you don't know, but he goes quiet. 

Plastering himself against you, legs entwining with yours, the heat radiating off him brings a sense of calm and security. His strong arms and steadily beating heart lulling you into a false sense of home you could only wish was real. 

You can't find the will to keep distancing yourself from him, to keep hurting him, so you cave, relaxing into his embrace as he sighs happily drifting off into sleep. “Oh, Bucky,” you whisper. “What have I done to you?” You smooth the crease of his brow with your fingertips, placing a loving kiss to the skin. “I’m so sorry,” you say sadly, dropping your hand to his arm, running it up the cool metal, coming to a stop just before the scarring. You sigh, closing your eyes and letting sleep overtake you, not daring to wonder what morning will bring.


	4. Chapter 4

You groan loudly as you slip gently into consciousness, a heavy, muscular arm draped casually around your waist, deep snores sounding from the man asleep next to you. You jerk violently earning a loud grunt from Bucky as your phone’s shrill ringtone pierces the quiet of the room. Scrambling frantically to answer the call without waking Bucky, you hit the answer button, detangling yourself from Bucky’s vice-like grip, and slipping into the ensuite bathroom.

“Hello?” you ask quietly. The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity. You’re just about to hit the end call button when a deep, gruff voice comes through the speaker. 

“Shadow.” 

The blood turns to ice in your veins. Breath catching in your throat you reply shakily, “De?” 

“How’ve you been, sweetheart?” he asks so gently you can almost taste the nervousness wafting off him. 

“Don't ask me that. Don't you dare! Put Sam on the phone,” you snap. 

“(Y/N) listen...” he begins, but you cut him off. 

“I do not want to hear it. I want to talk to Sammy!” 

There's slight grumbling, and a vague, hushed argument. Seconds tick by until Sam’s voice drifts over the other end of the line. “Shads, hey.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief. “What’s going on?” you ask tiredly, rubbing at your eyes, wishing with everything you have to go back to bed. 

“So, uh... we’re heading out your way. De-uh, I thought maybe we could talk? Catch up? You know, the norm,” he replies. 

You suppress the urge to hurl your phone at the wall. “No,” you reply shortly. “I told Dean if he walked out that would be the end of it. I don't want to see him, I don’t want to catch up, Sammy, and if you show up here I won’t be held responsible when I break his face!” 

Sam snorts, his bitch face filtering across your mind's eye. 

Rolling your eyes, you wait patiently for him to say something. To get the the point because you highly doubted catching up was the real reason for this fucked up reunion. 

“We need your help, (Y/N). This isn't a personal call.” 

Your annoyance turns to dread. If they were calling you it had to be something big, something they couldn't handle on their own. “Okay, alright, just… just let me think for a minute,” you reply anxiously. Opening the door of the bathroom, you peer into the bedroom. 

Bucky had woken up, reclining against the headboard of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Shutting the bathroom door, you weigh your options. Having Dean at the compound would definitely poke the bear. The entire sordid story would come out. No one would look at you the same. You would be labeled, branded, and the last thing you wanted was their pity. On the other hand, if Dean was phoning you for help it had to be bad. 

“Christ on toast!” you bitch at your reflection. Bringing the phone back to your ear, you utter the words you know would have horrible consequences. You had always had a weak spot for Dean, one smile from him and you would do anything he asked. “Fine,” you reply defeated. You hear a distinct whoop in the background, can practically see Dean fist pumping, and you can’t help but smile despite yourself. 

“Okay? Yeah, good,” Sam says hurriedly, almost as if he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. “We’ll see you in a few days. Bye!” he replies as he hangs up. 

You stand silently for a minute wondering what the hell you had gotten yourself into, and exactly what the consequences would be. 

**********

Squaring your shoulders you open the bathroom door. Leaning against the doorframe, crossing your arms against your chest, you take in an adorable sleep disheveled Bucky Barnes. “Hey,” you call out quietly, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering toward him. “How are you?” you ask tentatively. 

He drops his gaze to the bedspread, fidgeting with the material. “I’m good,” he replies quietly. 

Quelling the nervousness, you climb onto the bed, placing yourself in his lap, something you had done in the past when his nerves would play up. “You’re okay, B,” you remind him, carding your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly, giggling at the purr like noise he makes. 

His head thunks heavily against the wooden frame, and he cracks an eye open. “Are we okay?” he asks lightly as he grabs you by the waist, positioning you more comfortably on his lap. 

Your heart swells, the love you felt for him overshadowing any and all doubts you had about pursuing a friendship with him. You were in so much trouble. “Yeah, B, we’re okay,” you reply, as you remove your hands from his hair, running them down his chest. 

He shivers as you place your head over his heart, the position, although uncomfortable, afforded you closeness, closeness you had been craving for months. You melt into him as he gently strokes your hair, snaking an arm around his torso, snuggling into him, lack of sleep and the unexpected phone call dragging you back into the arms of Morpheus. 

“I love you,” you whisper as your heavy eyes close. You don't feel his hand falter. You don't hear his reply. You don't feel him gently place you next to him as he silently sneaks out the bedroom, leaving you to dream of happier times and a love which was wholly unattainable to you.


	5. Chapter 5

Flashback

Dean roughly kicks the door closed behind him, crowding you into a wall, blood, and bits of werewolf coating you both. He fumbles with the buttons of his stone washed jeans, freeing himself from the confines of his underwear. 

You yank your own pants down, and he grabs you by the back of the thighs, lifting, slamming your back into the wall. No words are spoken as he enters you. There’s no need. You know what he wants, what he needs from you. 

He growls as he sets a bruising pace, your bodies in sync with each other. He claims your lips in a bruising kiss, and you gasp into his mouth as he hits that perfect spot inside you. The dingy motel bathroom echoing with the sounds of skin hitting skin, he moans low in his throat, nipping at yours, an action that's uncharacteristically affectionate. 

You throw your head back as he fucks into you roughly. All words were stolen from you as he plays your body expertly, bringing you closer to the edge with every thrust, with every soft touch. “Dean,” you moan. 

His hips falter at your words, a garbled “Fuck,” leaving his lips as he shifts places, moving you on the counter. slowing his pace and cupping your face in his hands, he kisses you softly, lovingly. He pulls away, yanking your shirt over your head, cups your breasts reverently. His green eyes dark and hooded, clouded with emotion that isn't just lust. “(Y/N),” he whispers, eyes meeting yours as he pushes your thighs wider, his hands grabbing at every piece of flesh he can, his plush lips leaving marks and bruises as he kisses a path up your neck. He enters you swiftly, sheathing himself deeply inside you, filling you so well, the feeling so euphoric you’d give anything to keep him here with you, to take you over and over until you’re writhing whimpering mess underneath him, on top of him, however he wants you.

“Please!” you beg and he pulls you closer, grinding into you deeply, barely pulling out, his hips swiveling as he hits your spot perfectly, pubic bone grinding onto your clit, creating a sensation so mind numbing you can only whimper. 

He knows your body, your soul, intimately, all your secrets, you were his completely and he knew it. In these moments he knew how much he meant to you. 

The way your hands would clutch at him tightly, the way you would call his name like a prayer, the way your eyes would follow him during a hunt, always having his back, patching him up more times he could count. You were his rock, his anchor, he would tell you things he couldn't tell Sam. You knew exactly what he needed before he did, never denying him, opening yourself to him whenever the nightmares came. 

He claims your lips once more as you come, pouring every ounce of feeling he has into the kiss, groaning as your spasmodic clenching triggers his own release. He swallows your moans eagerly, running his fingers through your hair, an action which both soothed him and you. Coaxing you back to him, worshipping your lips, you were his, only his. These stolen moments, heated quickies in seedy bars and grungy motel rooms, stolen kisses, and loaded looks were what he lived for. It was the only thing that kept him from the brink of madness. He closes his eyes and savors the taste of your lips, just a little longer, just a bit more.

He pulls away from your lips, and you sigh in disappointment. He chuckles at the look on your face, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles at you masking the guilt he feels. “Sam will be back soon,” he says as he tugs at the ends of your hair. 

You purr at the feeling. Sighing softly, you cast your eyes downward. “Will you ever tell him?” you ask hopefully. 

His heart drops into his stomach as he wraps your hair around his hand, pulling backward, forcing you to look at him. “Why do you need him to know?” he asks defensively, his face pinching into a frown. 

“I’m tired of sneaking around, De. I just want a little normal.” 

He sighs, kissing you passionately, stealing the protests from your lips. “I know,” he says as he pulls away from you. “I don't want to share you, sweetheart. It’s just...” he trails off, his eyes begging you to understand. 

You shove down the rejection, the rising repulsion you feel at yourself. Instead, you smile lovingly at him. “I understand.” 

He smiles beautifully at you, melting your heart once again. With a wink he’s pulling out of you, turning his back on you, grabbing some toilet paper as he pulls up his pants. He didn't want to see the heartbreak on your face. He didn't want to see what his selfishness was doing to you. He hands it to you, gracing you with a last wink as he exits the bathroom, leaving you alone. 

Again. 

Present:

“Hey,” you call out, stopping Bucky in his tracks.

His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his sides. 

You frown, thoroughly annoyed at his distance over the last few days. 

He barely looked at you, barely spoke to you. 

You had no idea what you had done wrong, how you had messed up this time, but you were done wondering. Jogging toward him, you come to a stop behind him tapping him on the shoulder. “What’s up with you?” you ask angrily.

His shoulders sag as he turns toward you. 

You stifle a gasp at his appearance. 

Heavy bags frame his eyes, his skin pale, eyes red rimmed, lips chapped from biting them. 

“Bucky?” you breathe, “What’s going on?” you ask worriedly. Stepping closer to him, you entwine your fingers with his metal ones and he seems to sigh with relief. 

Relishing your touch, his eyes closed, the frown smoothing off his face. “I don’t know what I'm doing,” he confesses, causing confusion to sweep through you, and you opt to remain silent, to let him speak. “I need you...” he says, the inner turmoil plain on his face, “I don’t know if it’s friendship anymore. I don't know what I'm feeling. I... don’t know!” he says ripping his hand from yours. 

Your eyes go wide, hope and fear mingling into a hot ball in your stomach.

“Why?!” he yells, pulling himself to his full height, looming over you. “Why did you have to tell me you loved me? Ya have me in knots, Shadow! I can’t think, I can’t sleep. All I think about is you, and I don't want to!” he says as he throws his hand into the air. 

“Calm down,” you reply quietly, not daring to move in case you set him off. “I don't understand what you’re trying to say, B. You’re gonna need to explain.” 

He huffs, chuckling dryly, shaking his head. “That's the thing, (Y/N), I don't know. You’re a part of me. The only woman I’ve trusted in a long time. My friend,” he replies in a voice devoid of all emotion, “Now I can't stop thinking about ya. How ya feel in my arms, how your smile lights up a room, and I don't know if this is friendship anymore. I don't want it to be more. I just want ta be your friend!”

 

You suck in a breath, not daring to hope, not daring to feel, to let yourself dream of a future with him. Reigning in your emotions, you wrap your arms around him, ignoring the way he tenses under your touch. “It’s okay, Bucky. We don’t have to be more. We can be just this. I promise,” you whisper as the tension leaves him.

He tentatively wraps his arms around you, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you.” 

Your heart sinks. You’ve done the right thing your conscience screams, but you can't help but feel you let your one and only chance with him die.


	6. Chapter 6

12 years ago

Whimpering softly, you dragged your useless body across the filthy floor boards of the two story abandoned barn. At least you had thought it had been abandoned when you entered, seeking shelter from the raging thunder storm outside. As soon as you had walked past the threshold, the thing had attacked, sending you into what he most likely thought was a happy dream not knowing you were different. 

It had taken you hours to fight against the poison while hot, searing agony had torn through your nerves.You couldn't scream, paralysed, your body useless and broken, so you had done the one thing you could do. You used your powers just as two men had charged into the building, waving stakes and guns. 

Piercing green eyes had stared you down as the monster before you imploded, vile hatred simmering in the most beautiful deep green orbs you had ever seen, an accusation on the tip of his tongue. 

You had thrown up a shield, dragging your sorry butt out as fast as you could, which was little better than a snail's pace at present. You could hear their heavy footfalls, smell the whiskey and leather as they moved closer to you. Exhausted, you flip yourself onto your back, intending to only rest a moment, to catch your breath, maybe do something about the blood pouring out of you in buckets. 

“What are you?” the green eyed one asked as he looms over you, his deep voice resonates in your bones, sending your heart into overdrive. His gun raised, pointing squarely at your head, the blast wouldn't kill you, but man would it hurt. 

You try to scramble backwards, legs hanging limply, fear and adrenaline sending you back a foot as he takes two long strides toward you, crouches, pinning you to the floor. You freeze, staring up at him wide eyed. “Please! Please help me,” you beg, as your arms give out. “I’m human, I can't... I won't hurt you. Please!” you scream as you begin to sob. 

He merely cocks an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen a human blow up a monster without a weapon, sweetheart,” he quips sarcastically, raising the gun once more only to be stopped by an older man. 

“Wait,” the elder man commands. 

The green eyed man freezes instantly, looking to the newcomer for direction. “What's your name?” he barks at you. 

Still crying you sob out a, “(Y/N),” tired beyond all comprehension. 

The older man watches you carefully, kneels down, takes a swipe of your blood onto his finger and licks it clean. Eyes snapping to you, full of curiosity, he mutters, “She’s human. Get her up, Dean. She needs patching up.” 

Dean stares at his father in disbelief, eyes shooting between the two of you. “Dad-” he begins to protest. 

“Now, Dean. I’ll explain in the car.” 

Dean nods once, and with care you had not expected from him, he hauls you into his arms, cradling you gently against his chest. “Alright, sweetheart. Let's get you patched up. You’ll be good as new in no time,” he murmurs as he carries you to a sleek black car. 

Your vision whites out and you sink blissfully into unconsciousness, a deep sense of safety washing over you.

Present

Tony had installed a love seat in your room. It overlooked the rolling greens of the compound, and you spent most of your off days reclining in it, reading a book, or contemplating the mess which was your life. Which is what you were currently doing. The ever present ache in your chest had not diminished as the days had passed, 

Bucky had gone on as if nothing had happened, picking up where he left off with soft touches and cuddles, slipping into your bedroom in the middle of the night, wrapping himself around you, burying his face in your neck. These moments, so precious, so maddening, were killing you, slowly. 

You craved more. 

More closeness, more contact, and Bucky being Bucky gave it to you. He was by your side constantly and you were drowning in him; longing for something he wasn't willing to give you, or wasn't able to, you hardly knew anymore. 

“(Y/N),” Vision monotones. 

You let out an undignified shriek, bolting from your seat at the window and dropping into a defensive stance. A red ball of power flickers in your hand, eyes darting wildly around the room searching for any sign of danger. Finally settling on the floating entity before you, breathing out a huff of annoyance, you extinguish the flare in your hand, rising to your full height. “Viz, what have we said about knocking?” you ask as you watch him glance at the door. 

He frowns slightly. “Should I try again?” he asks curiously, drifting backward. 

“No, you’re fine. What’s up?” you reply, taking your seat and crossing your legs underneath you. 

“Tony is in the lobby. There are two men who claim to know you.” He inclines his head at your panicked expression. 

“These men... what do they look like?” you ask nervously. Your heart feels as if an ice hand is clutching at it, and dread coils in your stomach making you nauseous. 

“Tall, muscular, clad in plaid.” 

Shooting out of your seat, ignoring the protests of Vision, you hurtle down the hallway. Completely bypassing the elevator, you sink through the floors to land lightly behind Steve. 

The lobby held the entire team, including Bucky, and the hot coil in your stomach tightens. Taking a deep breath, you push your way past Steve and Bucky, coming to a halt when you make eye contact with him.

His chest heaves once, his green eyes sparkling with emotion. His fists balled tightly at his sides, his face is soft, open as he drinks you in. He doesn't speak, merely stares. His hands relax, fingers twitching, almost beckoning you, pleading with you. 

Your muscles respond before your brain catches up, Taking two steps forward, you’re going to him, coming to a stop, barely inches between you. You can barely breathe, your mind a complete blank as he smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, his deep baritone melting the ice surrounding your heart. 

Conflicting emotions swirling in your chest. 

The smile slips off his face. True to your relationship with him, he closes the distance between you, wrapping his strong arms around you, knowing what you need before you do. He lifts you off the ground slightly, he crushes you too him. His arms tightening almost painfully around you. When he’s had his fill he sets you down, his hand automatically going to your ponytail, wrapping it around his fist as you bury your face in his chest. 

The smell of whiskey, bacon and cheese burgers, and leather fill your nose. You blink back the tears threatening to fall. The nostalgia the smell brings is near overwhelming. Feelings you thought long dead and dealt with burst in your chest. Love mingled with sorrow and rejection, happiness and pain, all forming into a deep connection that pulls you to him like a magnet. You couldn't part with him. It was physically painful. The mere thought sent a lance of pain through your head. 

“De,” you whisper, clutching at his shirt, fearing that if you let go he would be gone. Again. 

He tugs lightly at the ends of your hair and your shoulders relax, your body melding effortlessly with his.

Sam clears his throat, dispelling the tension you had failed to notice. 

Your head snaps up, blinking rapidly at the man standing to your left. “Sammy!” you shriek happily, dislodging yourself from dean and throwing yourself at Sam. 

“Hey, Shads,” he spins you around once, chuckling happily as you cling to him. 

The smile Dean graces the two of you with could power a third world country. 

Sam sets you on your feet, your eyes scanning the lobby for your favorite angel, coming to a stop when you see Bucky. 

The rising happiness you feel is crushed instantly when you take in his expression. A deep scowl, anger shimmering in his eyes. He raises his eyes to meet yours, slipping into his Winter Soldier persona without hesitation. He regards you coldly. 

“Explain!” he snaps, and you take an involuntary step backwards, bumping into Dean's chest. 

He wraps an arm around you, and Bucky growls.

Fear blossoms, you know he can see it. 

Sam maneuvers in front of you while Dean drags you behind him, muscle memory and years of experience kicking in. 

Steve comes to the rescue. “Pal, you should go work it off,” he orders, regarding the Winchesters with curiosity. 

Bucky doesn't budge an inch, his eyes trained firmly on Dean. A silent stand off ensues, fraught with danger. Any second someone was' going to start swinging. 

Fearing for them both, you slip out of Dean’s grasp and inch cautiously forward. “Hey, B,” you croon softly. 

His eyes snap to yours immediately. 

You stop in front of him. “I’m going to take your hand now, okay?” you say softly, gently taking his hand. 

His shoulders relax slightly, the scowl easing off his face. 

“We’re okay,” you remind him, and his eyes losing their hard edge. “Will you walk me to my room, Sarge?” you ask lightly. 

He quirks a crooked smile. “How can I say no ta a pretty dame like you doll?” 

You breathe an internal sigh of relief, casting a last glance over your shoulder. 

Dean’s face is pinched into a frown, his gaze catches yours. He smiles reassuringly, but it doesn't reach his eyes. 

You can't help the feeling of dread that floods your chest as Bucky escorts you to the elevator, stepping inside you chance a last look at your past, Dean rounds on Steve, you can feel the venom as he spits out his words, his shoulders tense and his jaw ticking as Steve replies, you can't make out the words, the elevator door obscuring your line of sight as it closes. 

You peer at Bucky, a small smirk plastered on his face as he reaches for your hand, you grit your teeth against the annoyance, hitting the emergency stop button and rounding on him. “You can't do that James” you say angrily, he drops his gaze to the floor, “He touched you” he replies sulkily, you can't help the twinge of hope that springs to life, or the way your lips twitch into a smile, reigning yourself in you let go off his hand, taking a step away from him. “Steve and Sam touch me. Wanda and Nat too, hell even Vision does, i’ve never seen you react that way” you challenge, raising your eyebrows and placing your hands on your hips. 

Bucky scoffs out loud “Steve doesn't touch you like you're his. Sam doesn't hold you the way he did, you do not melt into Wanda and you don't look like you belong with Nat” he replies shortly, his words clipped and harsh. Chuckling humorlessly, you poke a finger at his chest, anger rising swiftly, hot and vile “you have no right to be jealous. I'm giving you what you want, friendship and only friendship” you snap, he grabs the offending finger, pulling you towards him, you’re inches away from him, so close you can see the flecks of green in his eyes “That is not the point Shadow, Dean or whatever the fuck his name is, wants something from you, i saw the way he looked at you, possessive and hungry, he couldn't wait to get his hands on you” he growls, shaking you by the shoulders “And you let him, you let him touch you, you forgot the hurt, and you ran to him like a fucking puppy after its master” he adds harshly, the words like a bucket of ice water thrown over you, you rip yourself out of his grip, snarling as you hit the Emergency stop button, the elevator jumps back to life, jostling you both as it continues its upward trajectory. 

“You have no right” you hiss, staring straight ahead, the cold glint of the metal reflecting off of bucky’s arm, you don't say anything else, needing to get as far away from him as possible, the Elevator grinds to a halt, the doors opening to slowly for your liking, you step through and stop, turning to face a very angry Bucky Barnes. 

“If you didn't want me to be with someone else James, you shouldn't have insisted on just being friends. I am not a second choice, and i will not wait for you to get over whatever the fuck is going on in your head, figure it out” you snap, chest heaving with anger, your face is flushed, fists clenching at your sides. 

“You didn't want me when you could've had me, i’m not a backup plan, i wanted you to choose me everyday, like i chose you. You’re selfish, and bitter and i am done being your second choice” and with that, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving Bucky open mouthed and fuming in the compounds elevator.


	7. Chapter 7

Anger. 

 

Hot boiling anger. It sets your skin on fire, pulls at your nerve endings. A curious tingle spreads over the surface of your skin, the tiny hairs raising with the force of it. You can't contain it, can't control it, it takes shape and morphs into Dean. Into Bucky. Familiar yet shapeless faces swim with it, a tide that ebbs, flows, turning into a tsunami threatening to wipe out everything that lays in its path. It steals your breath, constricting your lungs painfully. Years of regret, longing, abject horror and rage swirl into a single emotion so strong you cannot hope to repress it. 

 

You stop in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the raised voices drifting from the communal area. Leaning against the wall, your head thunking against the concrete as you attempt to suck in air, you can't afford to lose it now, you can't afford to let it consume you. Sliding down the wall, your grip on reality slipping, you hug your knees to your chest, getting lost in the endless pit of emotion. The endless well of pain seems to be ever present nowadays. You let out a silent sob, and let yourself feel, feel for the first time in what seems like an eternity, digging your nails into the flesh of your knees as some sick sort of anchor, anything to drag you out of the dark. 

  
  


You sigh heavily, raising your head and opening your eyes.  _ Time to face the music _ . Scrubbing your hands over your face, you shove down every bit of feeling you have, lock down every emotion but one, putting them in a box which shakes and rattles in your mind like a box of angry bees.  

 

You shuffle into an upright position, closing your eyes briefly, searching for the anger, your armor against further hurt, against further attack on your battered heart. You wipe your eyes and fix your hair, throwing your shoulders back, striding confidently toward the yelling in the lounge. Rounding the corner you take in the hell that is currently the living room. 

 

Wanda is keeping her distance from an irate Dean whose dangerously close to Steve, jaw tight, ready to swing at any second. Steve to his credit is not rising to the bait, his hands raised in surrender as Sam tries to calm his brother. 

 

“Who the fuck was that?” Dean yells. “And why the fuck is he acting like she’s property?” he adds as he shrugs Sam’s hand off his shoulder. 

 

“C’mon Dean, enough,” Sam urges. 

 

You can tell Steve is close to losing his patience. “Listen to your brother, pal. This isn't going to end well for anybody otherwise,” Steve replies.

 

_ Fucking cavemen _ , you think harshly to yourself as you move forward, nodding slightly at Wanda who inclines her head in silent agreement. 

 

She steps between Sam and Dean. “Let me show you to your room,” she says in her soft, accented voice. It seems to startle Sam who flounders for a moment before his eyes land on you. 

 

His mouth snaps shut and he nods at her, letting go of Dean and following Wanda out of the room. He glances back once, eyes darting to you. Shaking his head, Sam walked away.

 

“Steve, go find Bucky,” you command softly. 

 

He deflates, stepping away from Dean, who's staring intently at you. “Ya sure, doll? I can hang around…,” he asks gently, his eyes soft, full of silent understanding. 

 

You nod shortly, all your attention on the remaining Winchester. Steve grunts and leaves, and you take a fortifying breath, anchoring yourself to the anger like you need it to breathe. 

 

“You’re gonna tell me what you want. No bullshit, no lies, Dean. Tell me and do it quickly before I throw your sorry ass outta here,” you hiss at him venomously. 

 

His eyes widen marginally in shock. He takes a step toward you. “I came because I needed your help. And I need you,” he says simply. “I need you to come home,” he adds confidently, leaving no room for argument. 

 

You let out a peal of laughter, devoid of humor, your body shaking with rage. “Are you fucking kidding me, Winchester? If you expect me to run back to Kansas with my tail between my legs, you have another thing coming, asshole!” you snap. 

 

He snorts what he thinks of that. “You belong with us, and you know it. This...” he gestures at the living room, “is not you. It’s a band aid, a quick fix, something to hold you over until you have what you need. You’re a hunter, a warrior, Shadow, and you ain't doing shit here, sweetheart, but wasting your gifts.” 

 

“Fuck you, Winchester! You left me stranded in the middle of a field. Alone! Sam was dead as far as I knew. Cas was gone. All I had was you and you left me there for Lisa! You  _ bailed _ ! I am not going back with you!” you screamed. “You used me! I had only ever been with you, only loved you and you left. No explanation, no  _ goodbye _ , no nothing! I searched for weeks,  _ months _ until Bobby told me where you were.” Fighting back the tears you forge on. “So I drove all night. I found your perfect little house, with your perfect little family! Dean Winchester had left his fuck toy, his side piece, his  _ whore _ for the real deal. I’m not going back to that!” 

 

Dean’s face had drained of color during your monologue, his green eyes a striking contrast against the bloodless skin. “You were never, never any of that! You were everything to me! I only did what Sammy asked me to do,” he replies softly, gently like you might break into pieces, shatter at the slightest raise in his voice. “I love you.”

_ Crack  _

 

The ringing sound of flesh meeting flesh when you slap him swiftly across his face startles you both. Heavy breathing and a deafening silence fills the room. 

 

His eyes are glossy, His heartache evident. 

 

It’s no longer possible for you to feel bad for him. “You made me feel like  _ nothing _ , Dean Winchester. You have no right to say that to me when you couldn’t even  _ once _ tell your brother you and I were lovers. You have no right to look at me, to breathe the same air as I do when you were so embarrassed by me you couldn’t even admit we were together. I want you gone. You and Sam. I want you to leave and never come back. Lose my number, Dean.” 

 

He clenches his jaw. “We can't. We need your help. Cas is in deep and we need you to help pull him out.”  

 

Cas who you loved like family, the big dumb, too innocent for this world angel. “Fuck!” you scream throwing your hands in the air and turning around. Grabbing the first thing you can find, which happens to be a lamp, you hurl it at the wall. Breath ragged, the anger rolling off of you in hot waves. 

 

It’s so typical. Such a Winchester thing. Break a heart, then come back seeking help. 

 

You begin to laugh, a hysterical, maniacal sound that breaks Dean’s heart. He can see the madness fizzing underneath the surface, and it scares him, terrifies him to know he had a hand in pushing you this far. He had to help you, had to glue back the broken pieces of yourself back together. “Shadow.”

 

You turn back, eyeing him up and down. “I wanted you to fight for me like I kept fighting for you. Just  _ once _ have you chase me, but you didn't,” you intone softly, meeting his gaze. “I’ll help you find Cas, but then I want you gone. For good. Understood?” 

 

He merely nods, and you grunt in acknowledgment, striding out of the room and leaving him alone, wishing with everything you had you couldn't feel a damn thing. That your heart hadn’t jumped at his declaration of love. You needed space from him, from both him and Bucky. You had to survive them, survive this, for your own sanity.

 

As he watches you leave, he makes a silent promise to himself and you. This time around he would do it properly, give you what you deserved. “I was stupid, lost and broken back then when Sammy died, darling. I did what he asked because it was his last request. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell leaving you behind. But I’m through walking away from you. I’m gonna fight for you now, sweetheart. I need my Shadow back,” he whispers quietly to himself.  He wasn’t going to stop until you saw sense, and if that meant laying a beat down on the metal armed menace, so be it. He was a Winchester, and they didn't give up without raising a little hell. 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Please... Please make it stop. Make it stop! Please! Your mind screams as you take the stairs to the roof. 

All you needed was air. All you want is space, space to breathe, space to think, to stop the screaming in your head, the ache in your soul, but your legs are heavy like you’re walking through quicksand. Clutching at the metal handrails, you stop, steadying yourself, shaking your head violently, trying to get the acidic thoughts out. 

Enough! I want to breathe, make it stop! You scream at yourself, hoping sheer willpower would be enough to stem the tide. 

It isn’t.

You take the last few steps in two long strides, throwing the metal access door to the roof open with a loud thunk. Racing to the edge, your hands meet the guardrail. Heaving a great shuddering breath, you bring your hand to your mouth as the sobs begin, a tidal wave of tears spilling from your eyes. Hand shaking, your cries pierce the silence, your left hand clutching at your stomach as you bend over your knees trying to stifle the sounds coming out of your mouth with little success. 

“Shadow,” his soft voice comes. 

Whirling around, you land heavily on your backside, eyes wide with horror. No! Please! Not him! The internal voice screams as you stare at Bucky. 

“It’s alright, doll face,” he says as he crouches in front of you. “I’m right here,” he croons, prying your hand away from your mouth and entwining his fingers with yours. He hauls you to your feet and pulls you into an embrace, your wet face plastered to his chest. “It’s been a day, huh?” he whispers into your hair. 

The fight drains from you, and you wrap your arms around him, seeking any comfort he could provide. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, doll face. I don't know why I reacted that way. Things are a mess,” he says, and the buzzing in your head intensifies. “You hurt me, doll, the things you said. I’m trying, can't you see? Isn't that enough for you? It’s hard from me to know what’s real and what isn't.” His voice drips with hurt and for a second you can't believe he said the words, you cannot believe his flippancy.

Your arms fall limply to your sides. “I never meant to fall in love with you,” you reply shakily, broken, willing him to believe you, to understand that you hadn't done any of this on purpose. You couldn't help who you loved, you couldn't help the way you felt about him. 

He sighs heavily, nodding his head. “I know, but you said the words and it fucked with my head. I need ya in my life, doll, I need ya to anchor me, to help me feel human, these feelings...” he snuggles deeper into your hair, “I can't deal with them,” he finishes quietly. 

You can't help the anger that surges inside of you. The hot hate which accompanies it nearly chokes you, and you rip yourself out of his embrace. “You’re so determined to protect yourself and your feelings, but what about me?” you ask in disbelief. “What about my feelings? Do you think I wanted to fall for my best friend? That I wanted any of this to happen?” you snap. 

He takes a step forward, eyes pleading, doing that broken thing he does that makes your heart break. “That’s not what I meant, doll,” he replies softly taking another step toward you. “I just need you to give me time. I’m tryin’ here,” he says a bit more forcefully.”I ain't tryna hurt ya. I ain't tryna be cruel, doll.” 

You scoff disdainfully. “I know you didn’t do it to be cruel. I could have hardened myself against cruelty. Cruelty requires some sort of intention, some acknowledgement. I’m not sure you even knew I existed for longer than the three seconds it took to politely brush me aside like I was nothing. That was it, wasn’t it? I was nothing to you. Inconsequential. I wish you would have been cruel, Bucky!” you reply, turning away from him, wishing to hide the tears that have formed in your eyes. 

Make it stop, make him stop! you beg silently. Shutting your eyes against it, some part of your brain believing if you ignored him long enough he would go away, that this entire situation would go away. 

“Nothing matters anymore,” you whisper quietly into the wind, stepping closer to the railing. 

Maybe I can shut it off for a while, you muse as you take another step closer, Bucky’s voice unable to pierce the thick fog that had settled in your mind. Maybe I can make it stop, you reflect, the railing, an inch away from you. You raise your hand to touch it, to vault yourself over the edge, but you’re stopped abruptly. 

“(Y/N)!” Castiel’s deep voice bounces around in your head like a ping pong ball, clearing the fog. “What are you doing?” a hint of terror bleeds into his voice. 

Your eyes snap to his. You don't know what he finds there, you don't know what he sees, but his demeanor shifts from concern to anger in mere seconds. 

“For once, stop pretending you’re okay! Just talk to me!” he demands, his eyes turning a bright blue as his emotions take him over. 

“I’m fine, Cas. A lapse in judgment is all,” your voice sounds thick and slurred to your ears like it's coated in concrete. 

“Your soul was screaming, Shadow. I don't know much about human emotion, but you are hurting and you refuse to acknowledge the pain this man is causing you!” he snaps, his eyes trained firmly on Bucky. 

“Back off, pal. This has nothing to do with you. She can make her own decisions,” Bucky says menacingly, advancing on Cas. 

Panic races through your veins at the thought of Bucky and Cas fighting. Cas would smite Bucky faster than you could blink. Could you do nothing right? Did you have to destroy all you held dear? 

“Cas I'm fine, I promise!” you reply, grabbing his arm, trying to catch his attention. 

He rips his arm out of your reach and he turns to face you. “This man will be your downfall! At least Dean did not go out of his way to hurt you, to destroy you!” 

Blinding rage accompanies his words. 

“What the fuck do you know, Clarence? The little angel that loved humanity too much! You pretend to feel, you pretend to know what it means to be human, but you know nothing! You are not a human. Blind obedience is programmed into you, and yet you want to school me in emotion?” you hiss ignoring the intense guilt that accompanies your words. 

Cas eyes go wide, his lower lip trembling slightly, and he disappears, Bucky chortling quietly behind you. 

Your hands fly into your hair where you yank at the ends harshly, your body vibrating as you sink, sink, sink into the repressed emotion. Your powers flare out of control, years of pent up emotion rising to the surface, and an inhuman sound escapes your lips, fresh tears falling heavily. 

“Doll?” Bucky asks, panic evident in his voice as he begins to back away. “Shadow you gotta calm down, doll face!” he half yells. 

You turn to face him. Somewhere in the back of your mind you know you don't look human anymore. Bucky's face is a mask of terror, as he backs up quickly, words leaving his mouth, but you can't hear them. All you feel is the power. 

You stretch out your arms and laugh until it becomes a scream.


	9. Chapter 9

Deans POV

He had grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet hidden on the far side of the lounge, and contemplates commandeering the couch to drink himself into blissful oblivion. It was something he would do at the bunker, but a nagging thought at the back of his mind had him hesitating. He could smell the danger, feel the corrosive quality of despair in the air. It was something he was intimately acquainted with. 

Loss, heartache, anguish.

He takes a swing from the bottle, the amber liquid burning a comforting path down his throat, extinguishing the roaring fire in his chest. The hole you left was filled to the brim with alcohol and regret. He knew he didn't deserve a second chance, hell, he hadn’t deserved the first chance with you. He was Dean Winchester, hells favorite toy and heavens favorite scapegoat. He broke everything he touched. People died when they got to close, it was a family trait. 

Dad, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, Aileen, he begins to list before he cuts himself off, not having the strength to go down that particular rabbit hole. He gulps down another swallow, the persistent feeling something had gone balls up making his skin crawl. He scans the room quickly, fingering the butt of his gun that’s tucked safely in the waistband of his jeans. It brings a modicum of comfort. 

His shoulders relax and he shrugs it off, chalking it up to a new place, new surroundings, new people. He strolls down the hallway, coming across a roof access sign, peers up the stairs, making out faint yelling coming from the roof. His hunter instincts kicking into full swing. He races up the stairs, the whiskey bottle crashing heavily to the ground as he runs, his heart beating wildly with adrenalin as he reaches the top. 

It shudders and nearly stops in his chest as he takes in his surroundings. 

The super doosh is back peddling, yelling desperately at you to calm down. He’s begging and pleading, not knowing how to handle a full Shadow melt down. It’s the sight of you that does his head in. 

The anguish on your face breaks his heart, the pain conveyed in your muscles sets his teeth on edge. Your hair whipping around your face, a broken, prolonged scream leaving your lips as you hover a few feet in the air, chunks of concrete vibrating dangerously threatening to punch a hole through someone's head. Your features are dulled and blurred, not a speck of discernible humanity can be found. Your pain has taken form, the air around you is dark and menacing. 

A feeling of deep unbounding sorrow leaks into him, settling in his bones. He sucks in a breath, taking a step forward only to be yanked back by the super doosh. “You wanna lose the other hand, too?” he snaps at Bucky his eyes planted firmly on the flesh hand of the super soldier. 

“She’ll tear you to pieces!” Bucky yells, almost frantic with panic. 

“Super soldier or not,” Dean says calmly, “I will shoot you in the face if you don’t let go.” He rips his hand out of Bucky’s grasp when it loosens, striding forward confidently. It wasn't the first time he had pulled you back, he just hoped you still felt enough for him for his plan to work.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly, placing a single finger on the inside of your wrist. 

Your head snaps toward him, a dull flicker of recognition in your eyes. 

“It’s okay, baby, you’re okay,” he says as he draws the finger up, slowly making his way toward your elbow. 

You drop a few feet lower, your eyes begging, pleading for something, anything to make it stop. 

Dean grits his teeth against the emotion he finds there, the brokenness of your soul crying out to his own battered one. 

You shut your eyes tightly, almost vibrating with power. 

He ducks as a piece of debris when it flies past his face. “You’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe. Open your eyes. Come back. It’s okay. It’s over now. You’re okay. Wake up. Please wake up. Don’t do this to me. C’mon, baby. Fight! Don’t do this to me! I love you so much. Come back!” he begs, moving in front of you, grabbing both of your hands in his. 

Your eyes fly open, your mouth falls into a silent scream as the power seems to drain out of you. Floating lightly to the roof, the clunking of concrete hitting the ground goes largely ignored as you gasp for air, like you’ve been winded, tugging your hands from Dean’s so you can place them on your knees. You suck in a last breath, and the tears begin to fall once more. 

“I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!” you whimper, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I didn't mean too! I couldn't control it! I'm so sorry!” you yell rapid fire, the words so garbled he can barely make it out. You’re nearly hyperventilating with the speed of your breaths, your chest rising quickly as you attempt to rein yourself in. Your eyes are wild, hair a mess, shaking violently with guilt. 

Having seen enough, Dean sinks to his knees in front of you, and rests his head on your abdomen. Gently, almost reverently, his hands wrap around your slender ankles as he waits for you to come back. Your breathing seems to even out some at his touch, and he thanks Chuck, and Cas, and anyone who's listening that he could still bring you back. 

“It's been seven years, and I still regret what happened at the field that day. It was never suppose to play out that way. We were never supposed to play out that way,” he says slowly, enunciating every word so you would hear and understand him. “Next to Sam, you and Cas are the closest thing I have to family. I'd do anything, anything to take it back.” Ignoring the burning tears in his eyes, he jumps slightly as you sink to your knees and wrap your arms around him. 

You bury your face in his neck, crying noisily, the tears soaking into his red flannel shirt. 

“I'm so sorry, baby, so sorry. I fucked up. Forgive me? Please say you'll forgive me!” he says softly, stroking your hair. “I know the hurt I caused, I know the pain, and I'm sorry,” he continues. “Lisa wasn't who I wanted, wasn't who I needed. I did it for Sam. The dying wish of my brother. I was stupid to leave. I should have told him, should have made you mine,” he adds, his voice cracking with the weight of his guilt. “I regretted it the instant I left, the moment you disappeared from my rear view. But I felt like I couldn't take it back. You deserved better than me, sweetheart, better than a Winchester. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I’m asking for it anyway.” 

When he gets no response, he does the only thing he can. He begins to sing. 

The song that started it all. 

Your song. 

I can tell by the look in your eye  
I can tell by the way you sigh  
That you know I've been thinking of you  
And you know what I want to do

Oh Jean

Your whimpers begin to quiet, your body relaxing slightly as he croons softly to you, feeling the spark of hope igniting in his chest as he continues to sing.

When you smile I see stars in the sky  
When you smile I see sunrise  
And I know you've been thinking of me  
And I know how you want it to be

Oh Jean

When you sag completely, he picks you up bodily from his crouching position. You wrap your legs around his waist, his hand never leaving your hair. 

He turns to face a solemn Bucky, and Dean shoots him the most venomous, hate filled look he can. Not bothering to speak to the Super Doosh, he walks past him, solely focused on you, and your wellbeing.

I can tell by the things you say  
I can tell that you know the way  
And I know what you want me to do  
Oh, I've got hearts and flowers for you

 

He takes the stairs carefully, moving down the hallway, hoping he would run into someone who could tell him where you slept. 

You needed time, you were a mess, needed comfort and by the looks of it, a couple of years of sleep and a tumbler of Whiskey.

If you leave me you'll make me cry  
When I think of you saying good bye  
Oh the sky turns to a deeper blue  
That's - that's how I'd feel if I lost you

Oh Jean

Whether forgiveness would be forthcoming… he would have to wait and see. For now, he was happy just to be taking care of you again, and keeping you away from the tin man.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some floof. 
> 
> xx

Hushed voices surround you, a deep bass which wraps around your frazzled sub conscious soothing the screaming voices in your head, a leftover remnant of losing control A warm, large hand rubs small circles into your back. It’s familiar, safe. You melt into the touch, sighing contently as the action chases away the terror the previous day brought. Your long hair is splayed wildly over the pillow, the highlights shining in the sun, casting a shadow over your face. There are eyes on you. You can feel them, assessing, worrying. Choosing to ignore it you snuggle deeper into the warm blankets, wanting just a couple more minutes. 

“What happened?” the first voice asks, the concern in his voice is palpable. 

Your brain conjures up a shaggy haired Sam, and you repress the urge to groan. 

Sam was a worrier. If he had his way, he’d shut you in a room and wait on you hand and foot like you had contracted some horrible disease. 

You smile softly to yourself. How I love Moose, your tired mind supplies. 

“She had a moment. It happens, Sammy, you know it does,” Dean replies fondly. “She’ll be alright, My girl doesn't give up that easy.” 

My girl. 

The sentence whispers through your mind, and to your surprise you don't hate it. The warm rush of happy confirming that yes, you were still head over heels for the eldest Winchester. Reality pokes in its ugly head and whispers, but what about Bucky Barnes. 

Shit. Stupid reality.

The hand on your back digs into a particularly stiff muscle making you moan as it released the tension, and you stretch out cat like, arching into it, cutting off their conversation rather effectively. The hand stills, and you bury your face deeper into the pillow, a small sound of discontent escaping your lip. You reach out blindly, searching for the magical hand, finally coming into contact with it, placing it impatiently on your back, letting the owner know exactly what you wanted. 

A wry chuckles escapes Dean when the warm feeling returns. 

You want to dip yourself in the sound, coat yourself with it. Bottle it and take it out on bad days. It’s a sound that could chase away nightmares, and you desperately want to hear it again. 

“I know it happens, Dean, but why did it happen? Why now? It’s not like her to lose control. She hasn't had an episode since.,.” Sam let’s the thought hang. 

Never one to back down, Dean sighs. “The nightmares. I know, Sammy. When I got there Tin Man was running scared, and she had gone nuclear. I haven't seen it that bad since we found her. Dad always knew how to talk her down,” he replies sullenly. 

You crack open an eye, mildly irritated they’d found it necessary to discuss you while you were out for the count. 

“You did good, Dean,” Sam says softly. “Dad couldn't have done better.” 

The silence that accompanies Sam's words is deafening, and you know Dean has retreated into his head, beating himself up over things he had no control over. That were not his responsibility.

You’re just about to open your mouth to give them a piece of your mind and snap him out of it when Dean interrupts the oncoming tirade. 

“Sam?” he asks tightly. 

“Yeah?” Sam replies instantly. 

“Whose jacket is that?” 

You can hear the smirk in his voice 

“Uh… It’s Shadow’s?” Sam never was good at fibbing to Dean. 

“She wasn't wearing one.” Dean sounds damn near gleeful. 

“You sure? I could have sworn...” Sam tires again.

“Cut the crap, Sam,” Dean interrupts.

“Dean,” Sam pleads.

“You sly dog. Little brother getting down and dirty!” Dean laughs loudly, jostling you as he does.

“No... It-it wasn’t..” Sam answers desperately.

“Was it the busty redhead or the witchy one?” Dean sports a wicked shit eating grin, waggling his eyebrows lewdly. 

Having enough, you heave a loud sigh. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a little shut eye around here?” you snap at the boys, turning onto your back to glare at them both. 

“Someone’s cranky this morning,” Dean mutters, gracing you with a lopsided grin his eyes sparkling. 

“You would be too if you woke up to a congregation of farm animals in your bedroom, Winchester. Sounds like clucking hens.” 

Sam grins as he snarks, “Not your bedroom, Shads.” 

You peer at the bedroom, the distinct lack of band paraphernalia and star wars posters confirm Sam’s statement. “Why, pray tell, am I not in my own bedroom?” you ask calmly. 

Dean looks down sheepishly. “I couldn't find yours, so I texted Sam and here we are. Looks like I interrupted sexy fun time though,” he snickers, shooting a knowing look at a blushing Sam. 

You stifle a giggle, putting on your best bitch face. “Are you sleeping with one of my teammates, Sam?” you ask seriously. 

“Shads, no that’s not…” he begins but is cut off with peals of laughter from you and Dean, who flings himself backward on the bed, his chest rumbling with mirth. Sam stands up, grumbles something unintelligible while grabbing the jacket off the armchair and mumbling about finding coffee. He makes sure to slam the door behind him as he exits. 

“Some people are so touchy,” Dean says, fondness clear in his voice. 

You snort out another laugh, turning on your side to face him. 

He follows suit, his green eyes shining, his plush pink lips quirked into a half smile. 

Something warm twinges in your chest. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you bite down on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze to the sheets, distinctly aware you were alone in a room with a man who had owned your heart and body for many years. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, lifting your gaze to his, “for yesterday. I shouldn't have let my emotions rule me. It hasn't happened in a while.” 

Dean smiles, placing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “It happens,” he states matter of factly. “No need to apologise, I've seen worse.”

Your heart warms, the little fire in your chest growing fiercer with each word out of his mouth. “What you said... on the roof,” you begin, taking a deep breath, “did you mean it?” 

He stares at you seriously, his eyes roaming your features. “Every word, sweetheart,” his eyes soften as he looks at you, “I meant every word. And I'll keep saying it until you believe me,” he adds. 

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, determined to let the past lie, not to let it consume you any longer, you make a decision. It’s one that makes you feel lighter, more yourself, for the first time in years. “I forgive you, De,” you reply smiling widely. 

Deans answering smile is radiant, and he places a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he says simply, tracing a finger along your jawline. 

You sigh contently. “I'm afraid I might have hurt Cas’s feelings.” 

The things you said played into every insecurity Cas had. He tried so hard to fit in, to be like everyone else. Chuck knows how badly you’d screwed with his head. The answering silence has dread crawling up your spine. 

“You saw Cas?” Dean asks flatly, and your panic kicks into full blown terror. 

“What’s going on?” 

Dean sighs. “You ain't gonna like it.” 

“Spit it out, Dean!” You sit upright on the bed, looking down at him. 

He swallows heavily, his chest rising and falling, a deep weariness in his demeanour. “Lucifer escaped the cage, hopped a ride in the president of the U.S of A and knocked up his staff manager. We got him back into the cage, but his staff manager - Kelly Kline - ran, got mixed up with a knight of hell. We roped in the Men of Letters. That went to hell like usual. Afterward, Cas got it into his thick skull Kelly and the baby were to be protected. He’s been AWOL ever since, and now Lucifer’s escaped the Cage, again, and is jonesing for a hit of Winchester blood. Cas doesn't return calls or listen to reason anymore, and neither Sam or I can get through to him.” 

You contemplate his little monologue for a second, pushing down the terror his words inspired. Making up your mind, you nod to yourself. “What do you need me to do?” 

Dean deflates, relief coating his handsome features. “Track him. We couldn't find a psychic strong enough, not after Pamela,” he says, guilt bleeding into his voice. 

“Okay,” you reply. Determination and worry mixing together, you jump out of bed. “Let's get moving then!” Glancing around the bedroom, you search for your shoes. 

Dean sits bolt upright, worry etched onto his face. “What? You mean no breakfast?”


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky Pov: 

He watches you move around the kitchen chatting with the Winchesters and Steve, the latter talking animatedly with Dean about monsters and things that go bump in night. The jealousy boils underneath his skin, has a tight fist around his heart, and sours his gut with rage. 

He was angry. Very angry.

You seemed to know exactly how Dean took his eggs. How crispy he liked his bacon. You place a cup of coffee in front of him, the blinding adoration shining in Dean's eyes as he looks at you makes Bucky’s stomach turn. He clenches his fists as Dean lightly skims his fingers across your hip bone as you move away to serve breakfast, and you blush prettily, tiny goosebumps erupting over your skin at the touch. 

He stares as you pile Dean’s plate with eggs, bacon, golden hash browns and, inexplicably, a piece of cherry pie you seemed to have magicked out of thin air. You take a seat next to Dean and without prompting you to pass him the hot sauce while Dean picks the mushrooms off your plate knowing full well how much you hated the fungi. 

Bucky feels like he’s about to implode. His skin crawls with your proximity to the intruder. All his hair standing on end as your arms brush. 

Sam sits on your left, smacking his lips in appreciation and ruffling your bed hair affectionately. 

It was too natural, too right, too comfortable the way you fit them. Like you belonged with them. Like they were the family you’d been missing. 

It brought to mind family breakfasts long past, Excursions to coney island with Steve, days laying in the part dreaming of a future so big and bright it was hard to now imagine he’d ever been that innocent. 

He hated it. He wanted you next to him, blushing coyly every time he smiled at you, sighing contently when he put his arms around you. You were supposed to be his, cooking him breakfast, joking with him, seeking comfort from him. He ground his teeth against the tirade brewing, venomous words which had gotten him into this situation in the first place. 

“Stevie.” 

Your melodious voice snaps him out of his thoughts, his eyes going straight to you. The sweet smile on your face has dread settling in his stomach. The arm Dean places around your shoulders, however, reignites the hate he feels for the green eyed hunter.

“I need a few weeks off. I don't have any missions coming up, and I could do with a change of scenery,” you say, cocking your head to the side. 

Steve looks down at his plate, pushing a bit of egg around. “You gonna tell me why, doll?” he asks softly. 

To Bucky’s annoyance, you look at Dean for permission, who nods once. 

“A friend, the angel you sort of met, he’s in trouble. I need to help find him before he gets hurt,” you answer simply. 

Steve raises his eyes to meet yours. “Are you coming back?” he asks, and your smile slips off your face. 

You look at Dean again who squeezes your shoulder gently. “I don't know,” you reply, and Steve closes his eyes tightly, nodding his head.

Bucky’s anger turns to ice. His instincts scream for him to drag you to safety, to get you away from them, them who were taking you, dragging you, further and further away from him. Before he can stop himself he growls, “No.” 

Four heads snap in his direction, your face curiously blank of emotion. “I don't remember asking you,” you reply emotionlessly. 

Bucky ignores the twinge in his chest. “It’s too dangerous,” he replies forcefully, rising from his chair and staring you down.

Dean begins to stand but is cut off when you place a delicate hand on his forearm. “I think you and I need to have a conversation,” you state, motioning for him to follow you into the living room. 

The glare Dean sends his way would melt lesser mortals, but Bucky only smirks cockily, following you down the hall. 

Your POV. 

Stepping into the lounge you whirl on Bucky. “Don’t say anything, don't talk back. I don't want to hear what you have to say! You will listen and that's it. Got it?” you snap. 

The surprise on Bucky’s face clearly shows he was expecting a completely different reaction. 

“I am leaving, to help my friends, with or without Steve’s permission. You have no say in the matter. You gave up that right when you started toying with my feelings for you.” Bucky opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off, “No! You have no right, Bucky! You act like I'm yours, like I’m property, try and dictate who I see and where I go!” you bark out, hands on your hips 

The sadness in Bucky’s eyes softens your anger marginally. 

“This isn't healthy, Bucky. It’s toxic. We need space from each other to figure out what we want. What we need,” you say gently. “I know this is partially my fault. I don't know when it all turned to shit, but I can't keep doing this with you. It's exhausting, emotionally draining, and it's not helping anyone.” 

Bucky is staying silent, his shoulders set in defeat. 

“I’m going to go help my friends. Don't try and stop me,” moving past him to reenter the kitchen, you’re stopped in your tracks as Bucky’s soft voice reaches you. 

“He’s not just a friend is he?” 

Your mind comes to a screeching halt, your fists clench at your sides, and you turn to look at him over your shoulder, making sure he sees the devastation in your eyes. “No, he isn't. He never was.” 

*******  
After breakfast you hurry to your bedroom, packing as lightly as you can. Guns and knives take up most of the space in your bags. You only had ten minutes to get as much together as you could before having to leave. It was a long drive to the next town where you had tracked Cas to a small motel on the outskirts.

Throwing the last t-shirt into your bag, you zip it closed, dragging it behind you on your way to the elevator. You had said your goodbyes to the team earlier. You weren't going to be gone for more than a week you were sure. Taking the elevator to the lobby, you stride confidently out of the building admiring the sleek Impala on the curb. You shut Baby's trunk, having put your suitcase in the back, and slide into car looking expectantly between the two brothers. 

Dean smirks, Sam smiles widely. 

“Lets kill some evil sons of bitches and raise a little hell!” Dean says as starts Baby, the roar of the engine vibrating underneath you. 

Resting your head back on the seat, you smile at the ceiling. Finally, you were free.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Adults only, please!

It felt like months, maybe even years, had passed when you pulled into the dingy parking lot of the budget motel. The long drive blurred into greens and browns as you drove eight hours to Cedar point in Sandusky, OH. You had traced glimpses of Cas to the town and were hoping to find more clues to his whereabouts there. 

Dean maneuvers Baby skilfully into a faded parking spot, the engine dying out as he switches her off. He pats the dashboard lovingly as Sam exits the car, and you try not to laugh at Dean's attachment to his car.

Dean yawns tiredly, rubbing at his eyes and running a hand through his hair. “Man I'm beat,” he mutters more to himself than you.

You opt to stay silent, your own weariness sucking the will for conversation from you. Leaning back against the smoothe leather seats, ignoring the lingering tension in the car. The static electricity between you and Dean since you had woken in Sam’s bedroom had you on edge. Lingering touches, soft caresses under the table, longing looks. It made you hot all over. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you wait, albeit impatiently for Sam to return with the room keys.

It was darker than it should be for ten pm, the air thick and ominous. A stifling feeling of evil hung over you sending a shiver of apprehension up your spine. Fear seeps in. You feel like you’re being watched, assessed, scrutinized. Your breath starts to pick up, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your eyes darting around the parking lot looking for the source of your disquiet. A noise at the window makes you jump. 

Letting out an undignified squeak, you whip your head around to the source of the noise, staring accusingly at Sam who sniggers at your reaction and holds up two room keys. The dread is replaced by something far more unnerving. 

Nervousness. 

Dean frowns at his brother and exits the car while you follow suit. “What gives?” he asks snappishly, eyeing the keys in his brother's hands. 

Sam shrugs. “Fully booked. I call dibs,” he calls, grabbing his bag from the trunk, throwing Dean a key and hightailing it to his room. 

“Bitch,” Dean grumbles under his breath, an answering, “Jerk!” can be heard faintly from Sam’s door, and you roll your eyes at their antics. 

You turn your attention to Dean. 

He’s rubbing at the back of his neck, a glint in his eyes you can't quite place. “You okay with sharing?” he asks tiredly, a hint of irritation in his tone. 

You cast your eyes to the floor, biting your lip as you do so. “Yeah, I'm good. Besides, Sam snores,” you quip, trying to lighten the mood. 

He shrugs in defeat, grabs both of your bags from the car, and moves toward your room. You can feel the nerves radiating off him, masked in grumpy. His go to. 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. Breaking into a nervous sweat, you follow sheepishly after him, hoping that there were at least two beds. You didn't think you could sleep in the same bed as Dean and keep your hands to yourself. It was Dean sex on legs Winchester. You were strong, but not that strong.

You step through the threshold, taking in your surroundings. 

A flowery, white and red wallpaper adorns the walls, mold growing in the corners of the room, a shag carpet on the floor, matted in places. A giant King size bed sits in the center of the bedroom, a stained red and white duvet covering it. As far as disgusting roadside motels went this wasn't bad, it even had a little kitchenette. You could make it work. 

Dean throws the bags on the bed, then himself, obviously exhausted. He kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his pants, lifting his hips to shimmy out of them. 

You stare unashamed, a deer caught in headlights. Your eyes travel up his muscled calves, stalling briefly on his well defined thighs, remembering how they felt wedged between your legs, how he felt on top of you, the sweet words he would whisper as he made love to you. You suppress a whimper as he pulls his shirt over his head, the summer heat too hot for clothing. 

He shuffles backward, arranging himself on the bed, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape. 

“Are you gonna stare or come to bed?” he asks, his voice husky with sleep, his eyes half closed, his long lashes fanning beautifully over his cheeks. 

You open your mouth to reply, the words that come out surprise both you and him. “Did you love her?” you blurt. 

Dean's eyes snap open, guarded, his walls going up faster than light. “Not like I love you,” he replies simply. His muscles are coiled and tense as he waits for your reply. 

“If you could choose, would you go back? If hunting was no longer an option, would you go back to a normal life?” you ask tentatively, unzipping your shorts and stepping out of them leaving you in a tank top and black lacy panties. 

Dean's gaze snaps to your legs, admiring, he bites down on his lower lip as you stride forward, adding a sway to your hips. He follows the movement, a noticeable bulge forming in his underwear. “Only if you came with me,” he murmurs, as you crawl onto the bed, cat like, your butt raised, giving him a lovely few down your tank top

Feeling emboldened, you place yourself on his lap. Straddling his hips lightly, your hands on his taut abs, Dean inhales sharply through his nose. 

His legs spread involuntarily, his left hand skimming your side, bunching up the material of your shirt as he goes, exposing the smooth skin and the delightful surprise that you aren't wearing a bra.

You peer coyly at him through your lashes. “If you could do it again, would you make the same choice?” you ask, tracing a finger up his torso. 

He swallows heavily, his erection growing with every move you make. Running your tongue over your lips and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, Dean’s eyes follows the movement of your tongue, no doubt remembering all the wicked ways you had used it on him. The way you would swallow down every drop he had to give you. 

He grabs your wandering hand with his, sitting up and pulling you close to him. The hand on your waist moving into your hair, tangling and pulling, drawing a moan from your wet lips. “I would choose you over and over again,” he replies, gently pulling your head to the side. He places soft kisses to the nape of your neck, kissing a path up to your jaw, your hands move up his back, scratching lightly at the skin. He shivers, a low moan sounding in his throat. He grabs you by the chin, looks deeply into your eyes and kisses you. 

Your insides feel like molten lava, your lips like fire. Entire galaxies burst behind your eyelids as Dean invades your mouth, sweetly, gently, yet with a passion that makes your knees weak.   
His tongue dances with yours in perfect harmony, your hips rocking back and forth of their own accord. 

You wanted him fiercely, desperately, with an ache that threatens to overwhelm you. 

Dean releases your lips, his hands landing on your hips, helping you rock back and forth on top of him. 

“Dean, I want you,” you moan, nipping at his jaw, moving to his ear, biting down the lobe. 

His hips stutter against your own at your words. “Fuck, I know baby” he pants, his fingers digging into your sides. He gives sharp thrusts to your throbbing core, drowning in you, the smell of you, the taste of you. You were a drug, Novocaine, soothing and numbing, euphoric and he couldn't get enough. He wanted, needed to bury himself inside you and never come out. 

Moaning lewdly, his hands leave your hips and cup your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. You throw your head back, grinding down harder and faster. “Yes!” you hiss, pushing him flat onto the bed. Ripping your shirt over your head, the mosaic design sternum tattoo catches Deans eye, and he groans. 

“Jesus, (Y/N),” he says in wonder as his eyes travel upward, the plain metal bars that adorn your nipples getting him impossibly harder. His hands travel the length of your torso until he reaches your nipples, tugging at the bars gently, making you cry out as a shot of electricity runs straight to your core. The lace covering your mound drags deliciously over your sensitive clit as he plays with them. Pulling, nipping suckling, he lavishes your breast in attention, “So wet already,” he says cockily, smirking up at you as he dips down for another taste, his tongue tracing circles on the pert nub. 

You yank him back by the hair, his lust blown pupils dilating more at the action. “All I want to hear from you, Winchester is more and don't stop,” you reply seductively. Letting go of his hair and placing your hands on his chest, pushing him backwards onto the bed roughly, you trace a finger down his chest, coming to a stop at the bulge in his underwear. You rub lightly up and down his shaft, smiling evilly as he gasps and moans. “Lift,” you command and he does, raising his hips so you can drag his boxers down far enough to free him. You grab him firmly, lightly running your thumb over his slit and spreading the precum down his shaft, giving him a few pumps before letting go. 

He moans at the feeling, thrusting his hips into the air. It has you salivating, desperate to wrap your lips around him and have him make those pretty sounds for you over and over again, but that's not what you want from him right now. Oh you were going to make him moan. You were going to reduce him to a writhing mess underneath you, but not with your tongue or your hands.

You position your panty covered core over his weeping dick, the friction has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You begin to move, your hips circling in a figure eight, your breasts bouncing with every pass. 

Dean's head is thrown back, harsh pants leaving his throat, sweat accumulating in the hollow of his throat. His hips meet yours, garbled words of praise leaving his mouth as his tip leaks pre cum over his lower stomach. “I wanna be inside you, baby,” he pleads. 

You grin slyly to yourself, leaning down to suck a nipple into your mouth. Biting down lightly on the hard nub, his back arches off the bed, hips pistoning into yours. You push yourself upright. “That’s not more or don’t stop, is it?” you reply, stopping the movement of your hips completely, watching as he tries to find more friction.

He groans in frustration, his eyes snapping open. 

“Are you going to be good, De?” you ask as you run your thumb over his slit again. 

“So good baby, I'll be so good for you,” he moans. 

“Good boy” you reply, taking his tip in your hand and jerking him off in time with your hips. 

His stomach clenches, his hands tightening into the sheets. “Don’t stop,” he says gruffly, his eyes screwed shut tightly. His entire body tenses with pleasure, your wetness seeping through your flimsy underwear, coating him in it. his cock hitting the perfect spot. “God, please don't stop!” he cries, fists digging into the mattress as he thrusts into your hand. 

You’re so close, so turned on you feel like combusting. “Ssh,” you croon. “I'm going to take good care of you,” you reply thickly. Reaching behind you to fondle his heavy balls, weighing them in your hand, giving them a gentle squeeze, you feel them contract and the sound he makes, a broken sob, a desperate plea leaves you feeling empty, your walls grabbing at nothing. You want him inside you so badly, you can almost feel him, filling you so perfectly, making you feel so good all you can do is scream. “So good for me, baby,” you moan as Dean’s cock begins to throb, becoming painfully hard in your hand. 

His entire body goes rigid, his mouth slack, a prolonged lewd moan leaving his throat as long white ribbons erupt from his tip, his cock jumping with the force of his orgasm, coating him in come. 

“That’s it, darling,” you praise, never stopping the movement of your hips. 

His skin is covered in sweat and come, moan after moan falling from his lips as you milk him, biting down on your tongue as you watch him. 

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful, more erotic. Your hand moving frantically over Dean's pulsing cock, drawing out everything he has. It triggers your own release, an unstoppable wave of pleasure burning itself through your body. “More!” you demand. 

As you fall over the edge, Dean grips your hips, grinding up into you, your thighs slick with your arousal. “C’mon, baby,” he moans, eyes glued to your lace covered pussy. “Come for me, sweetheart, I wanna see you come,” he purrs. 

“Oh... oh god!” you moan, as your orgasm crashes over you, your thighs spasming with the force. Soft whimpers echo in the room as Dean watches you fuck yourself through it. 

“So pretty,” he grunts as you come down, your hips moving slowly, seeking just a bit more. 

It felt so good, you didn't want to stop. You could stay this way forever. Your hands land on his stomach, nails digging into the flesh making him hiss. Your soft whimpers as you chase another orgasm piercing the silence in the room. 

Dean shushes you softly, his hand traveling to your clit. He rubs gentle circles into the nub, hot electric heat crawls up your spine, the coil in your belly snapping unexpectedly as your second orgasm rips through you with no effort on his part. “That’s my girl,” he praises, soothing his hand up your side as your brain cells start firing normally. 

You look down at Dean, covered in come and thoroughly fucked out, a fierce possessiveness and desire to not get hurt again battling for dominance in your mind. You assess him critically, he smiles blissfully, and you hope with everything you have that you won't come to regret this decision. 

“You’re mine, De,” you say clearly. 

His eyes snap to yours, hope, adoration and pensiveness shining in them. He nods slightly. “And you’re mine,” he answers 

You breathe a sigh of relief and climb off of him. Making your way to the bathroom to clean him up you stop halfway. “I won't be kept in the shadows again, Dean. I won't be your secret anymore,” you say seriously, not daring to look at him. 

“You won't be,” he replies., and you believe him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut. 
> 
> sigh

The water beats down on your skin, the heat soothing your stiff muscles. Sighing happily, the motels water pressure was divine and Chuck knew you needed it, you drag your fingers through your hair, rinsing the conditioner from the strands.

The opening and closing of the shower door makes you smile. The calloused hands landing on your hips makes you sigh. You drop your head back onto his shoulder as he nudges your legs open with his thigh. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair, his hands moving to cup your breasts. He pulls you flush to his chest, his rigid cock sliding in between your folds as he thrusts smoothly. 

“M-Mornin, handsome,” you stutter as his cock catches on your clit. 

His hands leave your breasts, traveling in between your legs. Finding the hood of your clit and pulling it back, he pinches and rolls it in between his thumb and forefinger 

Your hand flies to his forearm, keeping him in place as he plays with you, pulling moan after moan from your lips, the motion of his hips teasing you terribly. 

“Say you’ll stay,” he commands as he moves his hips away, turning you around so your back is to the wall. He dips a finger into your entrance stroking your velvet walls, the coil in your belly pulling impossibly tighter. “Stay with me,” he says more forcefully adding another finger, thrusting slowly in and out of your dripping hole. 

The hot water overheating your skin, you feel like you’re boiling, unable to form words, or think a coherent thought. You merely nod, moaning lewdly into the small room.

Dean removes his finger, hikes you up by the back of the things and enters you effortlessly. He growls low in his throat as his cock head hits your cervix, the small hint of pain overshadowing it by a mile. How you missed this, missed him, his darkness and his light, the complexity of him. Soft and sweet yet hard and terrifying in the same instant. He sets a slow sensual pace, rolling his hips almost lazily into yours. He’s driving you crazy, his lips never leaving yours. He’s devouring your body, overwhelming your mind, branding himself into your soul, leaving his mark on you, making sure you will never be the same.

“Say you love me,” he whispers as he releases your lips, his pace quickening as the words leave his mouth, his eyes hooded and dark as he stares into your eyes. “I want to hear you say it,” he moans, your hands traveling down his back, leaving long red marks, moving up again to tangle in his short hair. “I need to hear you say it,” he demands, his hips snapping frantically into yours. 

The euphoria is blinding, the slick drag of his cock steals the air from your lungs, you’re at the peak, so close to falling over, just a little more.

“(Y/N)! Say it!” he snaps. “God, baby, please! Say it ain't just me,” he begs. 

Your mind finally catches up and you capture his lips in a kiss, gasping as you fall over the edge. 

He moans as you clench around him, his hips thrusting violently as he fucks you through it. 

You start to scream, certain in the fact, that it couldn't get any better than Dean WInchester. “I love you, Dean! I love you!”

**********

You glance up from the laptop, your phone's shrill ringtone piercing the silence of the room. Dean had left twenty minutes ago to scrounge up breakfast. Picking it up, you swipe the connect button as Bucky’s face fills your screen. 

“Hey, doll,” he greets, a sly smile gracing his face. 

You sigh inwardly. “I thought we said no contact?” you reply calmly. 

His smile drops marginally. “I missed you, wanted to see your face,” he counters, oozing charm. 

You shut your eyes tightly. “Bucky,” you warn. 

He pays you no mind, the smile dropping off his face completely. “Y’know what I don't get, Shadow? Two weeks ago you told me you loved me, you told me I was the only one you wanted!” he snaps “And then Dean and his brother fly into town and I'm nothing to you! What the fuck?” 

Sighing heavily, you rub at your eyes with your free hand. “Some days I can't stop thinking about you, Bucky, other days I wonder why I'm wasting my time,” you say softly. “You’re a good friend, Bucky, and lord knows I have feelings for you, but at what point do I stop caring about how I'm hurting you? What's best for me? Do you think about that, B? “ 

“Of course I do! I want what's best for you!” he replies. 

“No, B, you want what’s best for you. I'm a prize to be won, a trophy. You don't want to be alone, and I boost your ego, break the tide of your nightmares, but love me? I don't think you ever loved me. You don't destroy the person you love, B. You don't play with them, you don't try and possess them!” sighing, you scrub a hand over your forehead. “I do love you, James, I really do, but I love him, too” you reply, ignoring the overwhelming guilt his words had provoked. 

“You can't love two people at once, (Y/N)! ” he spits. 

You look away, tears pooling in your eyes. “I do. I love you but...” you begin to answer when the door to the motel room bangs off the wall. 

Dean’s face is a neutral mask, the take out bags hanging from his hands. He raises his eyebrows, a clear indicator that he had not heard the entire conversation. 

“I love him more,” you state firmly, staring him dead in the eye. 

His face falls, hurt colors his features, and his eyes grow guarded. Placing the bags on the table, Dean throws Baby’s keys next to them, shrugs off his leather jacket and tosses it over a chair. 

“Make up your mind, (Y/N),” Bucky says. 

Dean snatches the phone from your grasp, snarling at the screen before he hits the end call button. He throws it haphazardly onto the bed, eyeing you up and down before turning his back on you. “Let’s get to work,” he says emotionlessly, grabbing the take out bags from the table and plopping himself on the sofa. 

Your heart seems to do a nose dive off a small cliff with his sudden indifference. Hopping off the bed, you sit down next to him.

“I read somewhere once that if you find yourself in love with two people choose the second because if you really loved the first, you couldn't fall for the second,” you say quietly reaching for his hand. “I’m not toying with you, De, I meant what I said. I love you, I really do. I thought I was over you. The hurt you caused me was devastating, and it still lingers,” you chew the inside of your cheek. “But I know Bucky doesn't love me, not really. He thinks he does, he wants to I think, but I... I don't think I could love him like I love you. I need you to understand that. I need you to understand that I choose you. Everyday.”

Dean sucks in a breath, his fingers curling around yours, a small smile quirking his lips upwards. “I thought we had an agreement, Shadow.” 

You raise your eyebrows questioningly. 

He smirks playfully. “No chick flick moments,” he says seriously. 

You bark out a laugh. “Yeah, Dean. No chick flick moments.”


	14. Chapter 14

You stretch out your mind following the pull of Cas’s grace. It was a faint trail, nothing more than a wisp but it was there. You weren't a supernatural creature, warding and sigils had no effect on you. It blurred the edges of the person in question, but you could quite quickly pinpoint a location. 

Except now. You had no idea how Cas had managed it, but you kept hitting the same wall. A creature far more powerful than you had ever encountered had to be shielding him because you couldn't even get a read on Kelly. Insanely frustrated, you reach out your arms, sparks of electricity shooting from your fingertips, testing the limits of your psychic abilities.

Slowly, a picture starts to form. An abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. Hues of brown and orange surround it, encompassed by a faint blue glow, growing in intensity as the picture clears. A beautiful brown haired woman steps out of the dilapidated house, large brown eyes set in an oval face. Her caramel skin glows faintly. 

Your head begins to pound, the edges of the scene tinging red. Panic bubbles as you realise there's someone piggybacking in your mind. You struggle to push them out as a maniacal laugh sounds in your head. 

The pregnant woman's eyes snap to yours, fear set in them. You can hearing shouting, distant and afraid. Dean’s voice you think. Hands pull at you but are repelled instantly as the electricity dancing across your skin shocks them away. 

You concentrate your power on the intruder, desperately attempting to shove them from your mind. The evil, the malice this entity exudes is near suffocating, and you wonder why it feels so familiar, like you have come across it before in a dark alley. A distant chamber, flashes of chains and screaming are implanted into your head, skin being flayed from bone, gasps and moans of pain, burning flesh and bubbling sinew, and you swallow down a scream as the pain threatens to overwhelm you. 

The blue light becomes brighter, the red recoiling as it touches. The pressure in your head lessening as light overcomes dark, the anger dissipating as the blue fills your vision.

This is not the end, pet. A voice like daggers whispers in your mind before you’re shoved out of the vision. A pained yell escapes your throat as you’re thrown bodily across the room, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor having hit the opposite wall with bruising force. Groaning loudly you crack open an eye to find Dean’s worried face peering down at you. 

“Are you hurt?” he snaps, grabbing you by the arm and hauling you to your feet, inspecting you from head to toe, hands roaming your body seeking any signs of injury. “(Y/N) are you hurt?!” he demands, tipping your chin to look at him. 

Sam peers over his brothers shoulder, his face pinched into a worried frown. 

“Fine, I'm fine,” you gasp, swatting Dean’s hands away from your face. “I think we have a bigger problem than me getting my bell rung, boys,” you quip. 

Dean stops his fussing, staring you down, his face morphing into hardened hunter in what feels like an instant. 

“I had a piggy backer in my head,” you explain. Dean’s face is blank, Sam’s masked in confusion, sighing loudly, you move toward the couch, taking a seat and dropping your head backward, screwing your eyes shut tightly. “Sending out power like mine, it’s like a signal, a beacon instantly recognizable if you know what you’re looking for, and a skilled person could hop onto it, see what I see, feel what I feel, like an amplified radio station. One could even manipulate what I see if they had the power,” you explain.

Dean nods his head, dropping his head into his hands while Sam cocks his head to the side, processing the information like only Sam can. 

“So what you’re saying is, someone hopped the signal and came along for the ride?” Sam asks. 

“Exactly, and I'm afraid it wasn't friendly,” your eyes trained on Dean, he lifts his head, rubbing his lips with a finger. 

“How much did it see?” he asks quietly. 

You swallow thickly, knowing Dean might fly off the handle with your next words. “Everything. It saw everything,” you reply tightly. 

Dean groans out loud, and Sam raises a hand, his eyes snapping to yours. 

“What did you see, Shadow?” Sam barks, his voice demanding, businesslike, no hint of Sammy left, only the trained hunter, the one that had seen hell and survived it, the one who had spent time with Lucifer in the cage, who watched his fiance burn.

Your boys, they had lived through so much, seen so much. Dean, who had survived purgatory, been to hell, died countless times, watched everyone he loved die, including sammy, who drowned himself in whiskey and junk food. Yet they still went on, still fought the good fight, trying to rid the world of its evil, receiving no thanks and no breaks for their troubles. Your boys who deserved more than this.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, “I tried to push it out, but i couldn't. It was too strong. I didn't have enough power,” you babble.

Dean stands and strides toward you plopping himself next to you on the couch and drawing you to him. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart, just tell us what you know,” he says soothingly. 

You snuggle closer to him, placing a quick kiss to his chest. “I know where they are, exactly, I know how to get there, but we don't have much time. The thing saw it, too. I'm afraid it might get there before us.” You tense at the realisation. 

Dean's hand tangles in your hair. It never failed to soothe you. “No it won't, sweetheart,” Dean says fiercely, nodding discreetly at Sam who rises to begin the packing. 

Strangely, you believe him. It was Dean after all. He always found a way to kill the thing, save the world, and protect people. It was the family business after all.

You had no reason to doubt his word. You only hoped you would all come out of this unscathed.


	15. Chapter 15

Strolling around the pie aisle looking for a banana cream pie and a cherry pie to sate Dean unending need for the pastry, the man had a near obsessive want for the sweet treat, it was second to none in his opinion, you had your misgivings about whether or not you ranked above the food stuffs. Running your finger along the transparent lids, seeking something that wouldn't kill him prematurely, the state of his arteries a sticky subject between the two of you often resulting in heated disagreements and disgusted looks when you mention the dreaded “S” word, salad.

Lord knew there was a horde of supernatural creatures, and if you were honest some hunters, too, that would jump at the chance to off him, your hand stalls at the chocolate cream pie. The hair at the back of your neck rises. You peer out the large glass windows where Dean is filling up Baby. Sam leaning casually against the sleek black car, his eyes scanning the Gas n Sip parking lot and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Hello, pet,” a voice smoother than velvet and dipped in hate ripples behind you. The voice that had destroyed many a life. The voice that had caused Sam so much pain. 

Your muscles tense, fear invading your every cell. Your breathing picks up, your chest rising and falling as your fear takes a hold of you. “Lucifer,” you whisper, not daring to turn around. Instead, you discreetly peer out of the window, attempting to send out a telepathic signal to Dean alerting him of the danger. 

His head snaps to you, his eyes narrowing before he drops the gas pump and begins to run at a dead sprint across the parking lot, Sam following close behind him, pulling a 9mm out of his waistband as he runs.

“Shadow!” Dean bellows. 

Sucking in a breath and smiling, a ball of power forming in your hand. It flickers and fades, your eyes never leaving Dean's face, memorizing, mapping his every feature. Your eyes soften as you look at him, mouthing “I love you,” as you drop to the floor into a crouch, spin on the heels of your feet as you hurl the ball of power at Lucifer's chest. 

The Devil simply catches and distinguishes it with a bored look on his face. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. That's no way to treat an old friend, is it?” he flicks a hand at the door, sealing it shut just as Dean and Sam reach it. 

Dean throws himself bodily at the door, his shoulder hitting the flexiglass repeatedly. Sam joins his brother, hoping that their combined strength would allow them entry. 

Lucifer smiles slyly, turning his attention back to you. “You’ll do nicely, I think” he smirks.   
“Eat shit!” you spit, gathering another ball of power, larger than the last. It elongates in your hand, forming a wickedly sharp spike. You take a defensive stance and twirl the spike in your hand just like Clint taught you. 

Lucifer laughs as you lunge at him, kicking, twirling, stabbing, never landing a blow. “Feisty, aren't we?” he teases, blocking another blow of the spike. He crouches down and sweeps your legs from beneath you. 

Landing heavily on your back, you flip yourself onto your feet, shooting bolts of power from your hands. 

He dodges them with a grunt, the smile slipping off his face as you advance on him. 

You spin and land a winding roundhouse to his solar plexus. Delivering a hard elbow to his chin as you plant your feet followed by a singing left hook to the orbital bone, he staggers back and you smirk. You shove the spike through his kidneys, the red of his blood soaking his white shirt. Your hands lighting up once again, you place your hand over his face and push the power out, his vessel melts under your onslaught.

Victory sings in your blood as you use every bit of power you possess, screaming as it flows from you, your entire body encompassed in a blinding blue light. Basking in the pained screams being torn from his throat, you begin to laugh as your darkness rises, the piece of you that you keep at bay, that which makes you stronger, which feeds your strength.

You laugh at the way his skin bubbles, how his eyes liquify in their sockets, the smell of burning hair and skin fuelling your rage. Kill..kill..kill, your mind taunts as your power begins to wain, the blue light fading as Lucifer begins to laugh. 

His features taking on their previous form, he shoves you back as the light fades completely, sending you careening into the pie shelves. 

Searing pain rips through your side, a piece of metal from the display rack sticking precariously through your side. Moaning, you attempt to sit upright to defend yourself against the Morningstar. You’re so tired, so depleted, your hands sparking pitifully as you try and form your defense. 

“Performance issues?” he taunts as a whip cracks across your face, splitting the taut skin in half, a second blow snapping your head to the side. 

Your vision turns black, white lights dancing in front of your eyes. You will yourself to stay conscious, spitting blood out of your mouth as you hold your side. 

“I think you have a little something... right there,” Lucifer quips, using his power to twist the piece of metal into your side. 

You don't recognise the sound that's pulled from your throat, Dean’s frantic voice yelling your name as Lucifer advances on you. 

“Oh pet, we’re going to have so much fun!” he says as he crouches clapping his hands together. “But first, your goodness leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” he says nonchalantly, crooking a finger in your direction. 

Numbness. Nothingness. A dark crevice fills your soul. All sense of self flees from you. No emotion, no light, no love. 

You raise your head to regard your master, a small smile lifting the corners of your mouth, you bow your head in reverence, submitting yourself to his will. “My lord,” you whisper, your eyes downcast. 

Lucifer grunts in approval and with a wink, hauls you to your feet. Running a finger over your injuries, they heal with his touch. “There, isn't that better?” 

You nod. “Thank you, my lord,” you reply. 

Lucifer brings your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles almost reverently. “Well, pet, let’s have a little fun.”


	16. Chapter 16

Deans POV: 

“Shadow!” he cries as he finally manages to break through the plexiglass of the Gas n Sip door, the tinkling on the floor barely registering in his mind as he makes a beeline for the spot where you had lain not moments before. 

“No! No no no!” he recites as he crouches inches away from your congealing blood. He screws his eyes shut tightly, his brain rejecting the evidence his eyes provide, swallowing down the rising scream of rage. He had her, his girl, his love. Lucifer had lain hands on his girl.

He was going to make the fucker scream, and beg for mercy when he finally got his hands on Lucifer. He was going to wish for death. Dean would make sure of it. If he harmed a hair on her head, if he so much as looked at her wrong Dean was going to make the cage look like a fucking holiday. 

Sam’s soft footfalls pull him out of his rage. The gentle hand placed on his shoulder brings him to his feet. He knows Sam is speaking, his ears register the words but his brain refuses to translate them. 

Her face keeps replaying in his head. Her soft smile and mouthed words playing on an endless loop. I love you... I love you. 

He feels sick, nauseas, vile and hot, yet at the same time cold and desolate. He couldn't lose her, not again. Not this time. 

Not her, anybody but her, he prays silently, hoping that wherever Chuck was he would hear him, grant him this one wish, just this one. He would do whatever Chuck asked in return. Grovel at his feet, kill all the monsters, hang up his gun, anything if it meant having her back. Dean never asked for anything, never once had he asked for glory or wealth, he only ever wanted Shadow. She made him whole, his overwhelming love for her was the only thing that kept him going through hell, purgatory, seeing her face again kept him from murdering Sam when the Mark Of Cain took over. 

He needed her, he wanted her, he loved her. More than life, more than himself, more than hunting. 

The thought snaps him out of it. He turns on Sam so fast he takes a step back, alarmed at his brother’s change in demeanour. “Sam,” Dean says gruffly. 

His jaw set in a hard line, the rage wafting off him has Sam swallowing hard. His brother was at the best of time a tightly controlled ball of anger, but this, this was different, Sam had never seen Dean this angry, this out of control, and it scared him. 

“Call your witch. Get the Avengers here, now!” Dean snaps, his green eyes glinting dangerously. 

Sam furrows his brows. “My witch? De, I don't know-” 

Dean snarls, “Cut the shit, Sam! I know you’re sleeping with her. Call her now!” he demands. 

Sam blanches, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the words to deny it, to say anything to contradict it. “How?” he manages to blurt.

Dean rolls his eyes, his fist balled tightly at his side. “Shadow. She can read minds. We took bets on how long it would take you to tell her,” Dean replies, his words clipped as he stares his brother down, waiting impatiently for him to reach for his phone, to call Wanda and get the dream team here. Sam nods and looks away, and Dean grits his teeth “Spit it out, Sam!” Dean snaps, his patience flying out the window at Sam's inaction. 

“Are you sure?” Sam replies almost instantly, turning to face his brother. “I mean, you and Bucky don't have the best track record,” Sam challenges, grim determination in his eyes. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Sam! Make the call!” Dean yells, he takes a step toward his brother. “I don't care who comes to help, I don't care who they are, I don't care what they are to her, make the damn call so I can get her back, Sam!” a hint of pleading enters his tone, his left hand coming to rest on Sam’s shoulder. “Please, just do it,” he asks again, and Sam relents against his better judgement. 

The tension between Bucky and Dean had been intense, Sam would not have put it past Dean to pull some sort of stunt should he ever come face to face with Bucky again. But this was Shadow, and Dean for all his faults and shortcomings would die a thousand deaths before he let any harm befall her. He would kill anyone who dared touch her. 

She was his, and he was hers, and he would burn them all, heaven and hell to the ground if it meant getting her back. No arguments, no thoughts. 

He was hers, all of him, his soul, his heart, his mind. He wouldn't change it for the world, he wouldn't give her up again. God help Lucifer, because Dean Winchester was going to rip his lungs out and feed it to his hellhounds. 

Dean Winchester was coming for him.


	17. Chapter 17

Walking through the dark hallways, the screams of the damned ringing in your ears, a dark satisfaction twisting in your gut as they sound throughout the main hall. A small smile plays on your lips as you stride through the large oaken doors. Clad in leather, wickedly sharp spikes adorn your shoulders. A silk cape billows behind you, your long (H/C) locks curl down your back, skin shining luminescent in the low light. There was no more need to control your power, no more need to hide who you truly were. 

“My lord,” you incline your head slightly at Lucifer whose lounging on his throne. 

Picking his nails clean with a knife, he raises his eyes to meet yours, winking cheekily at you as you take your seat next to him. A smaller but no less ornate throne had been set up for you beside him, the title of “Queen Consort” had followed shortly after. Lucifer's son would need a mother after he was born, and he had chosen you to care for him, train him. Lucifer had taken the title too seriously for your liking, the opposite sex no longer held any appeal for you, no sex did.

But you humoured him, he was your lord and sovereign, he could kill you with a look, hurt you in ways you couldn't imagine and as emotionless as you were, your self preservation and survival instinct was still present, albeit dulled. 

“When do we leave? I’m itching for a fight,” you ask quietly, crossing your legs tightly as Lucifer stops fussing with his nails. 

He flips the knife twice before sitting upright and regarding you closely. He smirks widely, “You’ll be a good Queen, pet,” he replies. 

You scowl fiercely. “I asked you not too call me that, Lucy,” you reply sarcastically. 

His smile widens and he sits back. “Can't have my Queen upset now, can we?” he says with no sincerity. He sighs heavily at your expression. “We leave in six hours. My guards are preparing for our departure. We’ll be in an out, grab Kelly, and kill the angel. No muss no fuss.” 

“What about the Winchesters?” you enquire softly. The eldest one had been niggling at your brain. You didn't know why, and it was irritating you terribly. 

His face would float in and out of your mind almost constantly, snippets of memories and intimate moments. It caused your chest to twinge painfully with an unrecognisable feeling. If he were dead this wouldn't be happening. You had made it your mission to kill him, to snuff out the remnant of emotion that seemed to plague your waking moments. 

“The Winchesters are yours, make it painful,” he replies, a disinterest in his voice that sends a hint of annoyance up your spine. “I want Kelly. I don't care what happens to the rest,” he says as he rises from his throne, “Well, the minions are on their way, be a good girl and listen to their complaints. I'm gonna go play.” He stretches, a small noise of contentment leaving his lips. Dropping his arms, he tosses you a wink before striding out of the throne room. 

You sigh inwardly at the horde of petitioners outside of the doors, a flicker of repulsion sounding in your head. You wave a hand at the courtier, signaling that it was okay for them to enter. Propping your head on your hand, you stare into space, counting down the minutes before you could finally get your hands on the Winchesters.   
*********

“Where’s the building?” Steve asks, a map of the surrounding area laid on a table in the bunker, The entire team had taken less than thirty minutes to assemble and fly to the coordinates Sam had sent. They were currently all crowded around the library table, discussing tactics. 

Bucky had been silent through most of it. Content in brooding, watching as Dean took charge, he didn't fail to notice the chain hanging around the eldest Winchesters neck. It was a gift Bucky had given you for your birthday, a delicate white gold cross set with sapphires. The back had been inscribed with your name. It made his blood boil, seeing something so personal hanging around his neck and not yours. 

But not for the reason he thought. He was angry, angry that you were gone, angry that someone had taken you, had laid hands on you. He couldn't bear to look at the pain reflected in Dean’s eyes, the slump of his shoulders, the paleness of his skin. He couldn't help but feel like this was what love was. A deep, unending pain when you couldn't be with the one you loved, like a part of you was missing, and Bucky didn't feel that way. 

Yeah, he was angry, and he was worried, and he wanted you back safe, but he wasn't consumed by grief like Dean was. The dark bags that framed the large man's eyes paid testament to the sleepless nights he suffered, no doubt blaming himself for your absence. 

Bucky rises from his seat and strides toward the man in question. The entire room quietens, all of them holding their breath, they had been waiting for the inevitable showdown between the two rivals for days, and it seemed that they would finally get it. 

Bucky walks straight up to Dean, the wariness he finds in his eyes has shame bubbling in his stomach as he places his flesh hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving a light squeeze. 

Dean inclines his head and leaves the room, rubbing his hand across his eyes as he goes. 

“Alright,” Bucky says, staring at the map, points of entry and possible weak spots flashing through his head, his mind running a mile a minute as he formulates a plan. He smiles wryly to himself. “Lucifer will go for Kelly,” Bucky muses out loud. “He will bring (Y/N) with him.” Bucky looks up at Steve, who pales at Bucky’s expression. 

“Ah hell,” Steve mutters, before resting his hands on the table, and taking a deep breath. 

Bucky only snickers. “Alright Avengers, here’s what we’re going to do.”


	18. Chapter 18

The Michael Sword hangs comfortably in your grip, a weapon that could strike down Lucifer himself. You smile a genuine smile at the thought. The plan which had formulated with the Demon rebellion sent a thrill of anticipation down your spine as you move through the underbrush, your feet barely touching the earthen floor as you go. Grabbing a low hanging branch, you plant your foot on the bark of the tree and haul yourself up to perch on the stubbly appendage. Scanning the area for an immediate threat and finding none, you close your eyes and extend your mind, looking for any foreign entities. For The Winchesters and The Avengers.

A smirk graces your lips as you pinpoint his location. He was exactly where you thought he would be, perched on a hill, sniper rifle in hand, focused intently on the house. Getting sloppy, Barnes, you muse as you rise and leap from branch to branch, making your way to his hidey hole. You glide gracefully through the trees, sending out the signal as you move, the sword in your hand giving off a faint glow. It's the only light in the pitch black of the night. There are no stars in the sky, no light shining through the windows of the house. Cas had fled with Kelly hours ago. You saw no need to stop them. You didn't need the heir supplanting your position as Queen. 

Landing lightly on your feet a few steps behind Bucky’s position, you sneak quietly up to him, adrenalin pumping deliciously in your blood. You had been feasting off bitch blood for days, turning you into something hardly human, something dark and twisted, human emotion no longer had a hold on you. All empathy ripped from you, and you reveled in it, savored it, every horrendous act you committed, every soul you tortured in the pit made your soul sing. 

You place your fingers gently on Bucky’s temples and quickly send a jolt of power through his mind, bringing forth the one you want. Winter, your perfect soldier, the man who would fight and die for you without question, and, if he was a good boy, he would rule beside you.

Bucky groans low in his throat as he transitions, the change palpable. His usually lively eyes dull, his face vacant and his muscles tense. 

“Soldat?” you question, scanning his face for any trace of Bucky. 

“готовы соблюдать,” he answers softly, flipping onto his back and standing. Ready to comply. 

You take a step toward him, running a finger across his jaw, placing an almost loving kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good boy,” you praise. The rustling of leaves behind you alerts you to an intruder, and you spin on your heels, leaving Winter to stare vacantly into space.

“(Y/N),” the man before you gasps, racing toward you with long languid strides and engulfing you in a hug. “(Y/N) fuck I was so worried! Are you hurt?” Dean demands, scanning you over in the dark before cupping your face and bringing your lips to his own. 

Your lips are slack against his, but he keeps going, his hands traveling into your hair, an action that once soothed you now only served to irritate. You rip your face away from his, his eyes are still half closed, his mouth slightly parted. 

He finally seems to come to his senses asking, “Where’s Lucifer? (Y/N) where is he?” 

You smile widely, placing your hand on his cheek. “солдат задержал его,” your say clear enough for Winter to hear, Soldier detain him. 

He moves with deadly speed, placing Dean in a headlock so quickly Dean barely has time to flinch He hits the ground hard, his airway constricted by Bucky’s metal arm. 

“You know what's funny? You thought I loved you, that you were more than just a rebound from Bucky, you thought that you, Dean Winchester, could be loved,” you taunt twirling the Michael sword in your hand. “Oh honey, you’re nothing. Nothing to me, unlovable, with so much blood on your hands you could never scrub them clean.” You laugh heartily at his expression, the betrayal and pain shining brightly in his eyes. His mouth forming words you can't hear. “Let him speak, Soldat,” you command and the arm holding Dean loosens marginally. 

He sucks in a breath, sputtering pitifully as his lungs fill with much-needed air. “This isn't you,” he gasps. “You ain't my girl!” he adds lifting his eyes to yours. 

A twinge of guilt sounds in your chest and you snarl, “No, I'm not your girl. I never was, and now I'm going to kill you.” Your words are venomous and filled with hate. “Hold him up,” you demand of Winter who obediently grabs Dean by the arms, pinning them behind his back. 

Dean’s grunt of pain makes a voice in your head scream, pain lancing through you as you poise to strike. You ignore it, pushing it down, forcing it away. You grip the sword tightly, bringing it in an arc over your head as you move toward the kneeling Winchester. 

Time seems to stop as you plunge the sword through his chest, bright red blood bursting forth as he screams, a guttural pained cry that settles deep in your bones and wrenches with such intensity at your heart it nearly brings you to your knees. You gasp, your eyes opening wide as you see the life drain from his. His hot blood slicks your hands, staining them red. You watch closely as he forms his last words, I love you… before his eyes dim, a rattling breath leaving his chest for the last time before he sags forward onto your sword. 

You contemplate his slumped figure for a moment, curiously empty, no delight at your kill. You wrench the sword from his chest, tugging harshly. The sickening crack of bone that sounds as the sword comes free has your breath catching in your throat. You wipe your blood stained hands on your pants and raise them to your face. They come away wet, tears leaking from your eyes without permission. 

“Well done, pet,” Lucifer's voice comes from behind you. 

You sigh inwardly, vile hatred rising in your throat as you twirl the sword, the end pointing backward. You push it straight through his neck without batting an eye. The blinding angelic light that burns as he dies blinds you momentarily, but you don't bother looking at him. Your gaze is firmly on Dean. 

You snap yourself out of it when Lucifer finally dies, crouching down in front of Dean when your sword falls through empty space to the ground. You can't explain what your feeling, what you’re thinking. 

His eyes don't seem to be so green anymore. The freckles on his face are now a startling contrast to the paleness of his skin. 

Rising to your feet, a strange sickness settling in your belly, you look to the man standing sentinel. “Let’s go,” you order Winter, whistling loudly into the night air, summoning your demons to you. 

Winter moves forward as you reach out your hand, he grabs on firmly as you portal your way back to hell.


	19. Chapter 19

“My Queen.” One of lesser demon boys bows deeply before you. 

You hold back the snort. 

Bucky side eyes you curiously, wondering at your reaction. 

You had given him his freedom the moment you’d returned to hell, explaining why you had turned him back, why you needed him here with you. He was himself again, mainly, the triggers in his head still very much present. They were a safety measure should he ever decide to leave you, even as he claimed, now, he never would. Not even his promise to remain at your side and faithful, his heart crying out, his soul seeking only your happiness after having seen what your loss had wrought. 

You couldn't allow him to leave even if he wanted to. You could jeopardize everything you had worked so hard to accomplish. 

“The spell has been cast?” you ask, rising from your throne. 

“Yes, the spell has been cast. He has the mark.” 

You nod absently, turning to Bucky who inclines his head, understanding why you want him to stay behind. He looks… simply amazing now, his Winter Soldier garb enhanced with beautifully worked armor, the kind a consort should wear. 

With a small smile, you run from the room, ignoring the bows of the demons as you go. 

Throwing open the heavy wooden doors into your private chambers, the dim lights of the candle flicker gently as you enter. 

His body lies in state, motionless on a slab. He’s dressed in the finest armor you could have made in the time you had to prepare, armor fit for a King. Your King. 

Standing at the foot of the slab willing him to wake, to see those pretty orbs once again, you hold your breath. Dean had to wake up, you needed him to make this work, you needed him for balance. 

You stand silently for what feels like an eternity, keeping vigil over your dead lover. The seconds seem to meld into hours, the minutes stretching into days. He doesn't move an inch, not a muscle, no sign of life. The worry begins to gnaw at you. 

Your emotions had begun to return with Lucifers death, with a few minor changes. 

Your dark side had come out full force and there was no putting it back. Bucky had borne the brunt of it, fits of pique and violence ending in you standing in the pit, torturing soul after soul, trying to get it out, will it away. You needed demon blood almost on the regular now, your power increasing tenfold. It was imperative to keep your hold over your kingdom, to keep the demons from descending into chaos. 

He’d done everything he could think of to keep you happy, calm your rage, soothe your ragged heart, but it wasn’t enough. Bucky was your light, he kept you sane, mostly, your old self shining through when you were with him. He was your consort, ruled willingly at your side and shared your bed at night, but you needed Dean, needed him to balance you out. You needed his blood, craved his touch, longed to hear his voice. 

With Lucifer’s death and the return of your emotions you’d realized what you’d done. You’d killed him, your heart, the man you loved like no other. Bucky had tried, god he’d tried to fill the void and you loved him for it as much as you always had. His care and attention was something you’d longed for and now, now he could see how badly you needed him in your life. Whatever had been previously holding him back, had died when your emotions had returned to send you screaming into the abyss, shredding your way through the realms of hell as Dean’s loss tore you apart. 

When one of the minions had come to you with this harebrained scheme, you’d nearly snapped your fingers then and there, but Bucky had stopped you, encouraging you to at least try. 

You’d fought him on it. Dean would hate you for it. Bring him back only to make him a demon? The eldest Winchester would likely kill you where you stood, or try, making you kill him all over again.

But Bucky had only shaken his head. You had not seen Dean, broken, destroyed with your loss. If this was what it took to keep you together, to hold your sanity, to keep hell from exploding unchecked upon the earth, Dean would do it.

He flies upward at lightning speed, knocking you from your musings as his large hand wraps around your throat and slams you into a wall. Eyes of pitch bore into yours as he snarls at you, his lips curled back to bare teeth that seem sharper, glinting dangerously in the low light. 

You gasp desperately, but don’t fight, deserving whatever he would do next. 

“You killed me,” he spits, anger flooding his voice. 

You can't help the way your body reacts to his voice, your back arching off the wall, catlike as desire floods you. 

He loosens the grip on your neck, his lips curling into a cocky smirk with your reaction. 

“I had to,” you whimper, “You wouldn't have stopped otherwise.” 

He growls like an animal, hand flexing on your throat. His mouth descends, slamming to yours with bruising force. His tongue invades your mouth, dominating you completely, and he bites down hard on your bottom lip. Drawing blood, he licks his lips, a rumble of contentment sounding in his chest. 

You moan low. This was what you need, what you crave, what had wetness pooling in between your thighs. 

He smiles ferally, grabbing the backs of your thighs and moving you to the slab. Setting you down roughly, he licks the blood from your lip. “Mmmmh, someone's been sampling the local cuisine. You taste like demon, and not good demon,” he chuckles, dipping down to take your bleeding lip into his mouth again, suckling harshly on the plush flesh. He lets go with a pop, frowning down at you. “Why am I back, and why am I a fucking demon, baby?”

“I need you, Dean. Lucifer’s dead, I have to rule hell. I can’t do it alone. I have Bucky to be my light… but you’ve always tamed the dark. I need you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the darkness of his eyes receding until his beautiful green ones returned, filled with lust and a feral light you’d never seen before. “You’re mine, then. If I gotta be your demon, keep you sane, you’re mine. You’re gonna have to taste like me, smell like me,” he says, ripping your corset down the front, freeing your ample breasts from their confines. He licks his lips before taking your nipple into his mouth and biting down. 

You cry out harshly, hips bucking frantically. 

He chuckles against your flesh. “Such a little slut for me,” he murmurs, pushing the skirt you’re wearing up your thighs. Calloused hands run up soft flesh as he goes, stopping at the apex of your thighs. He runs his thumb over your dripping slit, pushing roughly into your clenching hole. “Good girl, open up,” he demands, removing his stroking finger from your core and shoving the leather of his pants down, freeing his hard as a rock dick, dripping precum, almost purple with arousal. 

You spread your legs as wide as you can, bunching your skirt around your waist, needing him like you need your next breath. 

His entire demeanour screams predator as he grabs the back of your knee and lifts it toward your chest. He doesn't attempt to prepare you, he doesn't even ask before he’s balls deep inside you. He doesn't pause, just fucks you roughly, his balls hitting your ass obscenely as he does. 

You can only whimper, the sheer size of him has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You can hear yourself screaming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming as Dean plays your body like only he can. 

He yanks your head forward by your hair, forcing your mouth to his throat, the only place free of armor. “Bite and drink,” he orders, the momentum of his hips never faltering. 

You lick first, tease because you can. He may be the King, but you were Queen and his orders would only push you so far. Sucking on his pulse, smirking when he snarls, you scrape sharp teeth over his skin. 

He swears, hips stuttering, his cock swelling to make you moan. “Little bitch,” he growls, glaring down at you, “get on with it.”

Pain bites into the back of your skull when he clenches his fist in your hair. It has you sighing in bliss and sinking your teeth into taut flesh, the taste of his blood filling your mouth, hot and spicy. It’s more, better than you’d ever imagined, like ambrosia on your tongue. It makes you come, right there and then, shaking violently in the arms of your Demon King. 

His eyes turn black as he picks up his pace, the pleasure of your bite skating through his veins. An inhuman roar leaves his throat as you come around his cock, suckling ferociously at his throat. He pulls you back by the hair, blood dripping freely from your lips as he withdraws from your slick walls, flips you around, and reenters you swiftly. His teeth bite down on your shoulder as he bottoms out, drawing your blood and sealing him to you for the rest of his days. 

You scream again, an earth shattering orgasm tearing you apart, heat and light whipping through your veins. Your vision blurs, going black around the edges as you fade from consciousness, Dean’s teeth in your flesh, the rutting of his hips against you, the heat of his seed when he loses himself to the pleasure of your body the last thing you feel as the world goes black.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M/F/M threesome, blood drinking.

Bucky Pov: 

He shivers as the roar of the Demon King reaches his ears, swallowing down the flicker of jealousy that flares briefly in his chest. He had made a pact with you, promised to share you with no animosity, to serve as your light in these dark halls to keep you safe and sane and without Dean it had proved a near impossible feat.

It had started with the screams. In the middle of the night, you would wake drenched in sweat and screaming for Dean, completely delirious, almost mad with the weight of what you had done. 

Bucky could do nothing but watch. Every attempt to get close to you would send a sharp lance of pain through his mind, sending him crashing to the floor. 

Next came the rage. A wrath more terrible he had never witnessed. Soul after soul would be brought to your rack, all manner of sharp implements would be laid before you. You would stay there for days, never leaving, until Bucky lured you away with soft words and gentle caresses. 

He sighs as the door to your chambers opens and Dean strolls out. Bucky emerges from the shadows and inclines his head slightly, catching the Demon King's attention. “Went well did it?” Bucky asks, eyebrows raised as he takes in Dean's disheveled appearance. 

Dean smiles cockily. “Jealous?” he snarks back, advancing on Bucky slowly. 

Bucky shakes his head, his metal arm flexing, his instincts telling him to gear up for a fight. “No, and you need to listen to me before you do something stupid, for her sake,” he replies calmly. 

Dean stops and regards Bucky for a long moment before nodding his head, indicating he was willing to listen, for now. 

“She’s going to close the gates, keep the demons here in hell. No more possessions. No more death, at least not from them. She will rule with both of us by her side,” Bucky explains. 

Dean opens his mouth, no doubt to tell Bucky how that would not be happening, that she was his and only his but Bucky cuts him off. 

“She needs me, like she needs you, Dean. She’s going crazy. I’m not enough to keep her from going dark side. She needs us both, together, no arguments, no jealousy, or she will lose everything that makes her... her.” 

Dean pauses, frowning heavily at Bucky’s words. “That bad, huh?” 

Bucky snorts. “Worse.” He can see the wheels turning in Dean's head. He’s fully prepared for Dean to tell him to fuck off, or worse, kill him, instead Dean smiles a secret smile which causes his eyes to crinkle at the corners. 

“Guess we’d best go claim our girl,” Dean nods toward the doors before stepping toward Bucky. “When I wore this mark,” he taps his chest, “before, there were things I did, things I enjoyed doing, pleasures I had forgotten or locked away because they were too dark.” Closing his fist over Bucky’s armor, he drags him closer. “But I ain’t got no qualms about reliving them now. You think you can keep up, tin man?”

Memories of the Winter Soldier, of life in the dark, of things he’d done or thought rushed over him, things he could never have talked to Steve about, experiences he had locked away because he wasn’t sure they would understand came screaming back. There, in Dean’s eyes, as he’d seen in yours, he knew he was in for one hell of a life. “Bring it, demon boy.”

Dean chuckles, dark and sultry, and slaps Bucky twice firmly on his cheek. “We’re gonna have a very good time,” he growls, eyes admiring as he looks Bucky over. 

**********

 

You come to, a warm chest underneath you and moan wantonly at the cool metal hand resting on the inside of your thigh, a delightful contrast to the warm tongue sliding over your clit. 

Bucky sucks the nub into his mouth, his blue eyes filled with heat and lust peering up at you with a devilish smile from his place between your thighs. 

A strong arm wraps around your waist, hand cupping your breast, squeezing deliciously.

You realise you’re on top of Dean, his thighs spread to either side of yours, while the Winter Soldier is eating you out like his life depends on it. A firm thrust sets you gasping. 

He’s four fingers deep in your ass, stretching you out, making you burn with the pressure, moan at the pleasure. 

Dean rocks his hips up, his cock rock hard along your spine. “Is she ready?” Dean asks Bucky who grunts in reply and removes his fingers. 

He slides backward, naked as the day he was born, lifts your hips and guides Dean’s cock into your throbbing ass. 

The burn is delicious, sending shocks of electricity straight through you. “Oh!” you cry out when your buttocks make contact with Dean’s abdomen. 

His hand on your breast tenses, the thickness of his cock pulsing inside you has him groaning. He thrusts up firmly, making you clench hard around him. “Fuck!” he huffs, his free hand closing around your throat and dragging you down. “Get in here, consort,” he commands of Bucky.

The look on your Winter Soldier’s face is all lust, blown pupils and flushed cheeks. Bucky clearly had no problems following your King’s demand as he crawled forward, his eyes locked with yours. He dips his head slowly, presses his nose to your wet core, slides his tongue up your lips with a smile on his face that would have easily graced a demons. A kiss is placed on your hard clit that has you moaning, flexing around Dean, causing his whole body to arch and rub against your spine. 

“Fuck me, Bucky, please,” you beg softly, unable to look away. You ache for him, ache to have him join Dean in tearing you apart with the pleasure unimaginable. Wet drips from you, slides down to coat Dean’s cock and balls, and has the Demon King swearing viciously beneath you. 

A wicked chuckle emerges from Bucky’s throat as he teases you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it over your opening before pushing into your pussy. The going is slow, the stretch intense, the fact you’re so wet making it only slightly easier for him to sink to the hilt. With a groan he bottoms out, his hands coming to rest on your hips, squeeze hard enough to bruise. 

You feel so incredibly full, so complete, you can’t help but sigh when they start to move. With each pass they make, their moans mingle into a beautiful symphony, one which fills your heart and soothes your soul. 

They move in tandem, rocking together, Bucky’s fingers leaving your hips, entwining with yours, while Dean's teeth scrape dangerously across your neck. 

Your mouth falls open as he nips, opening a small wound at the base of your neck. The rush of pleasure is so intense you feel like you can't breathe, can't speak, can't think. Just the constant of their bodies taking from yours, it’s blinding. 

Bucky radiates light, his aura mingling with Dean’s dark one, wrapping around yours, binding them to you. 

You know what needs to be done to tie them to you for all eternity. Running a hand up Bucky’s arm, you grasp the back of his neck, pull him gently forward until he’s draped over you, his body weight pressing you into Dean. You expose your neck to him, offering him the wound Dean had opened. 

Dean growls, his hot breath washing over your cheek. “Fuck yeah baby, let him taste you.” 

Bucky smiles beautifully, they exchange a look you can only see through Bucky’s eyes, and he closes his lips around the wound. 

You moan and sink your teeth into his flesh. The taste of him is everything you expected, hot, but with a bite like a blizzard, a tingle that burst on your tongue and sears through your veins. It’s exquisite, the complete opposite of Dean’s, but still utterly delicious.

His hips stutter briefly and Dean snarls in warning. “Not yet, baby boy. I gotta get my fill of you first.” Dean sits you both upright, his strength causing you to gush, your arousal soaking Bucky’s cock as your knees cradle Bucky’s hips, and his thighs slide between Dean’s. Carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair, he yanks him away from your throat dragging his head to the side.. You whine in protests, but Dean shushes you vaguely, his eyes going black as you watch over your shoulder. He smiles, all demon, a touch evil, and sinks his teeth into your flesh without mercy. 

You come screaming, walls clenching, fluttering around them both, refusing to release them when they both tried to draw out, to keep fucking you, to help you through the bone shattering orgasm. 

Bucky moans at the feeling, his metal hand has a death grip on your thigh, bruising your flesh while Dean holds his head captive. His flesh fingers delve between your bodies, seeking the hard bud of your clit. When he finds it, you shake, crying out at the shock.

Dean grunts in pleasure when Bucky’s actions cause your body to flex around him, his free hand slapping your buttock before he pulls his lips away from your throat and brings Bucky’s lips to his own in a rough, dominating kiss. It’s teeth and tongue and biting, the two men continuing to fuck you rough and dirty while they fight with each other.

You knew it was coming, what had to happen, but it still surprises you into gasping, a moan falling from your lips at how hot it is.

Bucky’s hips pick up their pace, his enjoyment apparent. 

Your head lolls onto Dean’s shoulder, and you beg, “Dean, please!” 

He smiles and bites Bucky’s lip, tugging it as he pulls away, releasing once it’s fully stretched and Bucky grunts to sink his teeth into Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Fuck!” Bucky roars as he comes violently, the pulsing of his cock, the heat of his seed has you coming a second time.Stars explode behind your eyes as the pleasure steals your voice. Darkness edges in, but you fight it back, waiting on Dean.

 

Dean’s grip on Bucky’s hair hasn’t faltered, and he jerks him forward over your shoulder, pressing Bucky’s face to his throat. “Bite, baby boy. You gotta bite me, too. Seal the deal, soldier.” 

Bucky does and Dean’s roar shakes the rafters, his hot seed filling your ass as the binding takes effect, marking you all as each others, as one, tying all your emotions together along with your souls. 

Now, nothing could tear you apart. When the darkness edged in again, you let it take you over as your body throbbed, pleasure continuing to pulse in waves with each of their ragged breaths. 

********  
Hours later you were still wrapped around them both. 

Dean was behind you, his hand resting softly on your rib cage. Bucky in front of you, his head in the crook of your neck, breath warm on your skin. 

Your heart so full you thought you might burst into tears at any given moment.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Dean growls, nipping playfully at your shoulder. 

You stifle a giggle at the tickle, yawning tiredly instead. Snuggling deeper into your lovers you give a quiet sigh. “They won't stop. They’ll look for all of us until they find us,” you say softly, 

Dean’s sigh mirrors yours, and Bucky raises his head to look at you, his eyes shining sadly. He raises his hand and cups your face gently while Dean wraps a possessive arm around your waist. 

“We’re gonna have ta make them then, aren't we, doll?” Bucky replies. 

Dean raises his head to peer at Bucky approvingly, kissing your shoulder lovingly as he lays back down. “Listen to the tin can, sweetheart. Ain't nobody gonna tear us apart. Both of you are mine. I’ll make them stop, even if I have to kill every last one of them.” 

Sighing loudly and detangling yourself from them both, earning a growl from Dean and a curse from Bucky, you slide from the bed and stand, turning to face them both. “Let’s try the non-violent way first, please? I think there’s been enough death.”

Bucky nods in agreement, turning to Dean who looks thoroughly disappointed. 

“Spoilsport,” Dean grumbles. Grabbing Bucky around the waist, he drags him closer, nuzzling his face into Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky’s metal fingers slide down Dean’s spine, causing him to sigh happily and you to smile knowingly. Even the King of Hell needed a little love and understanding. 

This was going to work, you could see it, and you would make damn sure nothing came between them or you.


	21. Chapter 21

You stare admiringly as Bucky pulls his shirt over his head, his hair still wet from the bath he’d taken, dripping slightly onto the floor. You follow a drop as it slips down his neck, disappearing into the fabric of his shirt. Clearing your throat softly so not to startle him, you croon, “Hey, baby.” Pushing yourself off the wall and making your way to him, you wrap your arms around his neck. “How are you doing?” you ask seriously as you place a soft kiss to his cheek. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply as he does. “I’m alright, love,” he murmurs against your neck. He engulfs you completely, soothing your nerves and fanning the flames of guilt that seem to be ever present in your belly. 

“Bucky, I’m sorry, for everything. For taking away your choice, for getting you stuck here, for hurting you, I’ll never be able to forgive myself, let alone expect you to,” you blurt out.

Bucky pulls away from you sharply, confusion written clearly on his face. His brow furrows adorably as he regards you closely. “Don’ do that, doll face. I chose ta stay, to be with you. There’s nothing to forgive. You weren't yourself, and you reversed it as soon as you could. I choose you, love. Everyday,” he states matter of factly, wiping away the tear that had fallen from his eye with his thumb and licking the saltiness of his finger. 

Your body sags with relief, and you bury your face in his chest inhaling deeply, savoring him, you needed to leave soon. You needed to see Sam. 

“Where’s Dean?” he asks gently. 

Sighing heavily, this morning's activities flash briefly in your mind's eye “In the pit. Alistair taught him well,” your reply is muffled by Bucky’s shirt. 

Bucky winds his fingers through your hair, pulling back, gently forcing you to look at him. “Did he okay the plan?” 

A noise of contentment leaves your throat as Bucky scratches lightly against your scalp, “He did. I leave in a few minutes. Are you sure you want me to go through with it? You don't want to say goodbye, B? He’s your oldest friend.” 

An amused chuckle sounds from behind you as Dean strolls through the bathroom door. Specks of blood and bits of flesh decorate his skin, his leather armor hugs his body in all the right places. “I leave you two alone for a second and you start without me? Naughty, naughty,” he bites out, pressing himself flush against your back. 

Bucky cracks a crooked smile. “Wouldn't dream of it, pal. Our girl was just filling me in on the plan,” he replies, his eyes shining brightly as he watches Dean’s face. 

“That’s disappointing,” Dean murmurs, sucking your earlobe into his mouth and biting lightly, sending a delicious shiver up your spine. “I was hoping for a show,” he growls, a dark promise lacing his words. 

I’m going to be so late, is the last thing that runs through your head as you descend into bliss. 

********

Four hours later finds you standing outside the bunker. You can feel their minds, grief and anguish radiate off them in waves. It pounds in your head and settles in your bones, weighing you down, making your limbs feel heavy like you’re wading through quicksand. You breathe a steadying breath, tightening your resolve to do what must be done and enter the Bunker. 

They’re all gathered in the war room, the entire Avengers team, Sam and to your surprise Cas, along with a man you had never seen before who emitted a powerful aura, blindingly bright. 

Cas is the first to spot you. He stands quickly, his angel blade appearing out of his trench coat sleeve in an instant. The hate and hurt shining in his eyes makes you nauseous. 

“He’s alive,” you state clearly before the angel could impale you with his weapon, halting him in his tracks. 

The rest of the room erupts into a flurry of movement, various weapons are drawn, everyone's trained firmly on you. 

Sam is the first to move. He grabs you roughly by the collar of your shirt and slams you into a bookcase. “You killed my brother!” he yells into your face. 

“Dean is alive,” you answer calmly, and Sam’s eyes widen in disbelief “You’re lying” he growls, bringing the demon blade to your neck. He holds it there, pressing down into your flesh. A thin red line opens, blood trickling down into your shirt. 

“I’m telling the truth, Sam. Let me go and I’ll explain.” 

Sam hesitates for a moment before stepping back. He doesn't drop the knife, but it’s progress. 

“Yes, I killed Dean and took Bucky, who is fine by the way, completely himself.” You incline your head in Steve’s direction. He breathes out heavily, Natasha’s hand lands lightly on his shoulder giving it a firm squeeze. “Dean did die but my demons... brought him back.” 

Sam snarls, attempting to lunge at you, but is caught firmly by Cas. “What do you mean?” Cas asks, his head cocked to the side. 

“We found a spell that would revert Dean back to a previous time, a time where he had the Mark of Cain. The mark wouldn't let him die, therefore he would come back as demon,” you reply simply, a part of you scrambles back in fear when Sam’s expression morphs into one that clearly says you were about to die. 

“I don't understand. How is that possible?” Steve pipes up, his voice harder than steel. 

“Dean doesn't exist in this time anymore, not really, he exists outside of it. If he leaves Hell without me, he will die. We tied his life force to my own, sort of like a ghost possession. As long as I live, he will too.” You stare Sam straight in the eye. “He’s not like before, Sam, not as bloodthirsty, or out of control. Most of him is still there, which is how we know you won't stop looking.” 

Sam tries to lunge again, but Cas keeps him firmly in his grip. 

“You keep saying “We”, Shadow, who is we? Where is Bucky?” Steve snaps, and your gaze sways to his. 

“Bucky is in hell with Dean. When I left them, they were sound asleep,” you reply calmly. 

“I don't understand! Bring him back!” Steve yells. 

Sighing, you close your eyes tightly. You never were any good at explaining things. “Bucky stays where he is, Steve. It’s his choice He chose to stay by my side, to love me. He won't return. I’m sorry, but he’s happy.” You flick your finger, effectively silencing the room before it can erupt. “We’re closing the gates. There will be no more Demons on earth. We will rule over hell together, the three of us. Both Dean and Bucky agree this was the only way you would stop without violence. I’m sorry. You will remember up until a point. I will give you peace, you will not mourn for them, you will live your lives happy. You will not remember me.” You take the time to look each person in the eye, memorizing the faces of the people you love before raising your hands and reciting the spell that would wipe their memories, that would make them forget the last few years completely. 

They would find peace, and they would stay safe.


	22. Chapter 22

It had been years since you stolen the memories of your team on earth. In hell it had been only six months, and truth be told, you had never been happier. 

You and your boys ruled over hell with an iron fist, punishing the damned and keeping the demons in line by day, finding solace in the arms of the men you loved by night. 

Bucky had thrived, sinking his teeth into every lore book he could find going so far as to lead skirmishes on earth against monsters. Yes the hell gates had been closed, but you had the power to portal out, and Bucky had taken full advantage, hunting everything from Wendigo’s to Vampires. It made him ridiculously happy. 

Dean rose to the task of King. It suited him. He was fair but ruthless, and would spend most of his days in the pit or in the Throne room, hearing petitions or torturing those who deserved it. He was both feared and loved, and it made you immensely proud to call yourself theirs, to stand proudly by their sides.

Nights were spent in the same bed, making love or talking. You were never apart, sandwiched tightly between the men you loved so much, who kept you from spilling over the edge into the dark abyss that was your mind. You had never felt more complete, more whole than you did with them. You wouldn’t change it for the world. This was your heart and your home.

You stretch lazily, naked as the day you were born, Dean’s hand tracing light circles over your protruding belly. 

Bucky hums softly beside you, turning onto his side nuzzling into your breast and laying his hand over Dean's, the latter burying his face into your hair and throwing his leg over your own. 

The baby kicks gently at the feel of his father's hands. It wasn't a normal pregnancy. You were four months in, and already you were larger than normal, the baby kicking whenever Bucky or Dean came near. 

It worried you slightly. 

The witch you had commissioned to take care of you during the term of your pregnancy had raised her eyebrows and laughed heartily when she examined you. “Oh, dearie, that wee baby is going to keep you on your toes make no mistake!” she had cackled loudly when you asked if she could tell you who the father was, informing you gleefully it was both the boys who had impregnated you. 

The baby was half super soldier, half demon, taking only a few of your talents. His aura was bright she told you, you had nothing to worry about. He wouldn't destroy the world or start wars, and you were thankful. 

You sigh happily as Dean's fingers leave your stomach, travelling down to the apex of your thighs, Bucky’s hand snaking to your breast, tugging at the bars in your nipples. You moan wantonly as they play with you, whispering soft words of love in your ears as they do. 

***************

“My Love!” you call out, the screaming of the pit drowning you out as you hurry down the steps, needing to get to Dean as fast as you could, adrenaline and fear making you run faster. “Dean!” you yell wildly, searching for his distinctive frame as you go. 

He finally comes into focus, standing tall with a whip in his hand overseeing the hordes of Demons attending the racks. His head whips around as he hears you approach, his brow crinkling with concern when he takes in your dishevelled state. “What's going on?” he demands, his hand automatically settling on your stomach as he waits for a reply. 

You suck in a lungful of air, breathing deeply as you try and catch your breath. 

“Shadow!” he growls in warning, and you snap yourself out of your panic, raising your eyes to his. You don't know what he sees in them, but he takes a protective step toward you, wrapping his arms around you, shushing you as he scans the area no doubt looking for Bucky who had agreed to help him oversee today. He spots him, and beckons him over. 

The Winter Soldier appears beside you in mere seconds, his protectiveness causing him to step behind you, shielding your body from all harm. 

“You gonna tell us what's goin’ on, sweetheart?” Dean asks more gently, Bucky’s head snaps to yours, listening intently. 

“It’s Crowley! One of the Demons patrolling the portal exit informed me this morning. His entire team has been wiped out, leaving only him alive with a message,” you explain hurriedly. 

Dean snarls, baring his teeth. They glint dangerously, his entire demeanor screaming murder. 

“What was the message?” Bucky asks, his voice cold as ice. 

“He’s coming for his crown. Crowley wants his kingdom back, and he will kill us all to get it,” you whisper. 

Dean laughs maniacally, his entire body vibrating with his laughter. “Oh darling, I’d love to see him try.” 

In that instant you knew with certainty no matter what Crowley threw at you, that was never going to happen. Pressing a hand to your burgeoning belly, you smile. With Dean at your front, and Bucky at your back, no one would ever touch you or your growing family. Not ever.


End file.
